Rules of War
by Era Yachi
Summary: Sheppard's team is sent to investigate an Ancient research satellite, and find ZPMs. But then, McKay starts to act strangely...even violently. Friendship, hurt, comfort and angst.
1. Damn

_**Rules of War**_

* * *

"Men of genius are admired. Men of wealth are envied. Men of power are feared. But only men of character are trusted." 

-Arthur Friedman

* * *

_----_

_Chapter One: Damn_

_----_

**8:34 am, Atlantis**

The hurricane that was also known as Dr. Rodney McKay tore into the back of the jumper like a violent hamster on high.

Elizabeth might be one of the few in Atlantis that actually enjoyed Rodney's frequent, animated outbursts, but today there was good reason for everyone to be excited. Lorne's team had returned several hours ago after investigating an Ancient satellite orbiting around a distant planet. The prospect of adding another massive weapon to their struggle against the Wraith was a reason in itself for celebration, but there was something else that made this find an even greater miracle.

There were ZPMs on board. Five, to be exact.

Since their arrival in the Pegasus Galaxy two years ago, the hunt for these fundamental power sources had slowly sunk into the background of their objectives. After Ladon's coup against Cowen and his followers, they'd been officially deprived of leads and without direction, there simply was no hope of tracking down a functioning ZPM…until now.

According to Major Lorne, the ZPMs were held in a transparent, sealed-off chamber in the center of the control room. The major had wisely chosen to leave it alone until McKay or Zelenka had a chance to look at it. Yet upon exploring the main control station, they'd found nothing that indicated life had ever breached the dusky corridors of the satellite.

Weir had been forced to talk McKay down to bringing a team of only four scientists—half of what he'd wanted to start with. Honestly, she couldn't see why even four were necessary. Their primary goal was to retrieve as many of the power sources as they could before the main expedition set out to bring the weapon to its full potential. Recovery of the satellite would come later.

Needless to say, Teyla and Ronon were accompanying Sheppard, not for military support, but to relinquish him of some of the pain caused by dealing with Rodney.

Although the satellite was similar in many ways to the first one they had discovered, it also doubled as a research outpost. Its size was unimaginable. It would take no less than a dozen or so skilled men and women for the task of bringing it back to life. Dwelling on this, it occurred to her that she might have to request an increase of personnel, which would probably incur a full tactical analysis by the I.O.A.

She sighed softly and leaned on the railing, overlooking the Puddlejumper in the 'gate room with a thin smile. Hell, she would _invite_ the council members to _live_ in Atlantis if it meant the recovery of five fully functional ZPMs.

"_Would you calm down, Rodney_?" she heard Colonel Sheppard's voice over her headset. "_The giant alien satellite isn't going anywhere in the next five minutes, so why don't we all just _relax_, and take our time_."

"_No, I won't. And yes, Colonel, it might!_" the scientist shot back. Weir smiled. "_You know, I'm not even remotely surprised you weren't listening to me the first three times. So I'll say it again at the expense of my very fragile sanity. Now that the satellite has been activated, _anyone _within a reasonable technological level of understanding can detect it. And just so we're clear, that includes the Wraith."_

"Gentlemen, do I have to send someone to baby-sit you two?" said Weir, raising her eyebrows.

There was a slight pause before a disgruntled voice replied over the radio. "_I thought you had already, ma'am."_

Sheppard laughed sarcastically. "_Come on, Lorne, this'll be tons of fun! Broken Ancient satellite, Wraith looming over your shoulder, death lurking around every corner. And hey, talk about location—I hear the edge of a radioactive magnetic asteroid field is great this time of year."_

_"No offense, sir, but it's not the mission I'm unhappy about. It's McKay."_

_"What?"_ Rodney protested. _"Since when do you have anything against me_, _Major_?"

_"The last time I baby-sat you, I was shot with a Wraith stunner and left to roast in the hot sun,"_ said Lorne.

"_He had me at gunpoint! What did you expect me to do—fold you up and put you in my pocket?"_

"Rodney!" Weir said curtly. There was radio silence. "Thank you. I hope this means you're ready to go?"

_"As we'll ever be. Dial away,"_ said John.

Elizabeth nodded briefly at the Canadian tech who sat at the dialing console. He punched in the coordinates, and the 'gate flashed, extended, then stilled. It was a little unorthodox to send jumpers out this way, but since their ZPM had been severely depleted a few weeks prior, they aimed to keep the 'gate open for as short a time as possible.

"You're clear to go. And Rodney," Elizabeth added, with authority.

"_Yes, yes, yes, what is it?"_ the snapped response came. Impatient McKay? There was a surprise.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "If it turns out these ZPMs can't be retrieved safely, then leave them behind. Promise me you'll do that."

His immediate silence wasn't reassuring in the least, but then, she hadn't expected him to wholeheartedly agree with her. Asking McKay to abandon even one working ZPM was like asking a starved lion to desert his prey—there was little room for negotiation.

"_Fine_," he said bitterly.

"Thank you." Her arms dropped to her sides. "I hope you remember that promise, Rodney. We'll be waiting for the good news shortly."

_"See ya in a few,_" Sheppard said, just before he cut the connection. A moment later, the jumper throttled forward with the usual melodic purr in its wake. Once it slipped through the event horizon, the 'gate closed behind it, and the mission to G2T-178 began.

_Be safe_, Elizabeth thought after them.

* * *

**9:13 am, G2T-178 Space**

Amidst the sheet of stars, the massive blue-and-gray satellite looked like a drifting ghost. The light reflecting off the gaseous navy-aqua planet stained the highlights of the station. It floated, no more than a lonely giant filtered through the advanced technologies of an ancient race. As the jumper neared the docks, lights surrounding the mouth of the hangar blinked at them, as though a sleeping monster might open his eyes and greet the smaller creatures in the flying vessel.

Of all the words that could describe it, and the only one Sheppard came up with was 'pretty'. Okay, so sue the guy who failed the linguistic class. It was damn pretty.

Beside him, McKay was ecstatic. Sheppard felt his hand itch with the need to slap the man upside his head. He didn't care if they'd found a _hundred_ ZPMs on a giant flying ship made of gold—he knew Rodney when he started acting this way. Yeah, he'd learned some things since Doranda, but that didn't mean he'd spun a full one eighty. From now until the moment they showed that hunk of Ancient metal the rear end of a jumper, John would have to keep a close eye on McKay. Again.

Of course, the more he thought about babysitting McKay, the more he felt the mental itch start to grow in the back of his mind. There was something he was supposed to do today. It had something to do with Rodney. And the more he tried, the less he remembered.

Damn.

As he went on concentrating, Sheppard maneuvered the ship until it set down gently on the floor of the hangar. Sensing their arrival, the newly awakened station closed the doors to the vacuum of space and replaced the atmosphere in the chamber.

Whatever it was he couldn't remember, it would have to wait until they were back in Atlantis.

"Everyone remember where we parked," he announced, standing up. The nine other occupants of the jumper were already filing out the rear hatch. He joined them on the deck.

"The control center we found is two floors below," said Major Lorne, giving the team of scientists his best 'move-before-I-say-so-and-die' glare. "There was some pretty heavy damage to the corridors on this level, so we had to reroute through an airlock to reach the transporter."

The marine standing behind Lorne—Lieutenant Padley—gave a long, sweeping look around the hangar. "I don't like the fact that the damage's internal rather than external."

"We don't know that for sure yet," Rodney reminded him. "The structural damage throughout the satellite is probably the result of several direct shots to vulnerable targets on the hull's exterior."

"I don't like the fact there's any damage at all!" Sheppard cut in sharply. "We're not even inside the damn thing yet and I'm already starting to feel that this is a bad idea."

"Well, bad idea or not," said McKay firmly. "We should at least take a look at the control center. Bottom line is, everything we need to defend ourselves against the Wraith is in there."

"Not everything," said John. He turned his back to the scientist to address the team as a whole. "From here on, nobody leaves sight of the group unless specifically ordered by either me or Major Lorne."

"What? What about—"

"_Or_ Dr. McKay," Sheppard added gratingly. "Are there any questions?"

One of the techs, one Dr. Golding, a mousy little guy with a thin moustache and an English accent spoke up. "What do we do if we must relieve ourselves?"

Sheppard didn't bother to answer the question, and instead moved away towards the inner area of the docks at a pace that suggested his urgency to get the mission over and done with. As the group misted around him, Golding looked after him with an offended twitch of his cheek. Ronon paused behind him and glanced down, a lethargic expression on his face.

"Use your imagination," he said, before stepping around the frozen man and following the others.

And thus, Dr. Golding, master of two PhDs and brilliant Yale graduate learned a lesson about stupid questions.

* * *

**9:29 am, Ancient Satellite Second Base Airwalk**

True to Lorne's testimony, the door to the left of the dark corridor was sealed tight. Electrical burn marks suggested that it had shorted out at some point, leaving behind a trademark steel barrier and several black holes in the wall. Rodney glared at him before Sheppard could ask if it was fixable. The scientist brushed past him without a sound, heading down the right path towards the airlock.

John drifted in thought. It was weird…there was something about today that felt different. Was he supposed to remember something? Was it a holiday, or an anniversary…? But then, again, as soon as he turned his mind to it, it eluded him. Once again, he found the few mental strings pulled right through his mental hand and it was gone. Damn.

Anyway, he led the company down the hall after McKay and found him working intently on the panel to the door, brow furled in concentration. Picking up on his negative Rodney-go-boom vibe, the remaining scientists stood by and let him work. After a few moments, McKay stopped what he was doing and faced the colonel.

"First off, this technology is extremely outdated," he explained. "Compared to the Ancients, it's…well, ancient. It's obviously a lot more complicated than ours, but it also makes it very volatile."

John lifted his brow. "Which means…"

"Which means it won't work one hundred percent of the time," Rodney said somberly. "Or even fifty percent, for that matter. It's almost as if the whole satellite was hit by a super-charged EM pulse, scrambling circuits and overloading parts of the electrical system simultaneously. It's a wonder the hangar doors closed without shorting out."

"We noticed a few of the doors weren't responding last time," Lorne affirmed. "We went as far as we could before turning back."

"Speaking of doors," John interrupted. "How about this one?"

"Yes, yes, I'm trying," sighed McKay. "Major Discovery over here must have drained what little electrical charge was left in the door's buffer the first few times it was opened. It's not your typical 'pop-out-and-replace' crystal system we're talking about here."

"Of course it's not."

"When and _if_ I do get it to work, we're going to need something to wedge it open," the physicist went on to explain. "I doubt it'll open after this."

Automatically, John twisted his head to look over at Ronon. The Satedan shrugged, took a single glance around the passageway, and spotted a narrow pipe somewhat dislocated from the wall a few yards away. He snapped it the rest of the way with a rough jerk of the arm and passed it to their team leader.

"Thanks," said John, taking the metal pipe as casually as though he would a handshake. "Here you go, Rodney. Now you can't say I never get you anything."

"How nice," drawled McKay, ignoring the gift. "A birthday present. It's all mine. You shouldn't have, Colonel."

Sheppard felt something kick inside him. Oh, shit.

"It's your birthday?" said Lorne. "You never said anything."

"No. It's an overrated concept. Why anyone feels the need to celebrate the fact that they're one year closer to their inevitable demise escapes me. Now stand over there, and get ready to use that thing once I open this door."

Sheppard turned on Rodney incredulously. "It's your birthday?"

"Go. Stand. Door."

_That_ was what he couldn't remember about today.

Grimacing, the colonel stepped forward so that he stood in front of the partition in the door. He vaguely remembered Elizabeth mentioning today's date and it's privileged meaning. Hell, on Teyla's birthday, he'd presented her with a box of smuggled popcorn and a couple of chic flicks Cadman assured him were ideal. But Rodney's…well, he'd forgotten it was today.

Actually, he hadn't realized it was even remotely close to today. Even if he'd remembered a few days before, what could he have gotten McKay? Yeah, he was part of the team and it seemed like the right thing to do, to give birthday presents when the time came around. But then, he was a pilot, and a soldier. He fought wars. Wars had rules and those rules didn't include bonding with civilians in the middle of perilous missions.

McKay was definitely not the kind of guy who cared about rules. Maybe because he'd broken them so many times…but then, hell, so had John. What irked him was the fact that Rodney disobeyed _lots_ of rules, including the ones he made himself to protect the team. Annoying, stubborn, egotistical McKay.

Maybe he should stop thinking about it.

John came out of his reflective coma to find that McKay had the cover of the panel open and was doing something with his fingers. There was a brief flash of sparks and the door suddenly jolted open with a low hiss. Before it could slam shut again, John grabbed the edges and pried them apart until he could fit his body through. He felt Ronon grab the pipe from his hand and wedge it between the two halves, near the top where it wouldn't be knocked out. The door shuddered, but the metal bar in its jaws didn't snap despite its unconventional circumstance.

"There," said Sheppard, standing back. "That wasn't so tough. You okay, Rodney?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine," grumbled the scientist, ducking under another shower of sparks expelled by the panel. "Just your run-of-the-mill jolt of electricity to the brain, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

John exchanged glances with Teyla, but said nothing, their thoughts being the same—he was fine. As fine as Mckay could be.

The inside of the airlock were dismally bare. A rectangle sort of hatch was carved into the ceiling—he guessed it was for lowering larger-than-normal things into the airlock to be jettisoned into open space. Or maybe it was used for launching probes. Who cared. McKay's 'enthusiasm' was getting contagious, and John really wanted to get out of here.

The astrophysicist waved his hand over the panel to door across the small chamber. Fortunately, it did exactly what it was meant to do and flushed open. They marched through.

Which was good…because airlocks made him nervous. So did birthdays. And rules.

Damn.

The transporter was too small to fit everyone all at once, and Sheppard arranged it so that he and McKay would be amongst the first group to go down. He threw in Ronon and Teyla for experience, sticking Lorne and the cheerful Lieutenant Padley alone with the other scientists.

So when they…well, 'transported' down to the base level and the doors parted to reveal the actual authenticity of the Ancient's control room, Sheppard felt he could safely, however temporarily ignore that bad feeling in his gut.

"This is…this is amazing," said McKay.

Well, okay, maybe 'amazing' was sort of an understatement. He wasn't McKay, and he wasn't exactly the one looking forward to spending the next fifty-two hours slaving over a laptop, trying to bring dormant systems back online. On the other hand…this was nice. Really nice. He never thought he'd see so many damn ZPMs in one place, but there they were.

The ZPMs were standing, unattached from the device in the center of the room, in a neat row inside what could only be called a glass cage. All five power sources—brand new, shiny, and untouched. Consoles that were only slightly similar in design to those on Atlantis stood on all four sides of the chamber. They, along with the chamber itself, were elevated on some kind of metal platform. To the left, the room branched out into a larger wing, which seemed to have nothing but walls covered with keyboard interfaces—and in the center of it all, a large, flat screen.

"Okay," Sheppard said, after a moment of intake had passed. He stepped out of the transporter, followed by Teyla and Ronon. "I admit. This is cool."

It took him a moment to realize that something wasn't quite right. He looked around, and saw that Rodney still hadn't moved. "Rodney?"

The scientist continued to stare into space, unaffected. Good lord, was the man drooling? Sheppard snapped his fingers. "Hey, Rodney! Wake up!"

McKay jumped, casting a short and hostile glare towards the colonel. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? You're the one who won't stop going on and on about these ZPMs, McKay, so start…ZPM-ing!"

"ZedPM…what?" the physicist squeaked, advancing quickly. Ronon stepped aside to let him by. "Excuse me, Colonel, if I take a while to savour the moment," he added snappishly. "And for the love of all that's decent, just…stay right here, and don't touch anything. I don't want you accidentally turning on something important."

"Because that would be a problem, right?"

The transporter slid open behind them, and Lorne arrived with two of McKay's crew. He more or less politely removed himself from the line of banter while the scientist hung back where they were comfortable—in the background.

"Yes, it would!" said McKay. "For all we know, this level of Ancient technology could be ten times as sensitive to ATA than Atlantis' systems."

"Am I the only one getting the 'mother hen' vibe from him?" Lorne asked, just as the transport delivered Padley and the other techs.

Sheppard scratched his chin. "Actually…"

"I am sensing a type of…defensive intuition," Teyla offered, smiling slightly at the chance to join in.

"Reminds me of my mother," Ronon added.

"Okay, just…_stop_, right there!" Rodney barked. "First of all…Ronon, what did I ever do to deserve that? And second of all, what's with all this? You find out it's my birthday, and all of a sudden I'm wearing a sign that says 'Yes, I'm thirty-five, so please humiliate me some more'?"

That surprised John. "You're thirty-five?" That would make him a year older than him. John didn't like to think of Rodney as 'older' in any way. He spent half his missions trying to prevent the man from sticking his fingers into other people's belongings (not to mention business). How could he be _older_?

Damn.

"Never mind," Rodney said dismally. "Forget it. Golding, Armes, you're with me. You, and you…do either of you read Ancient?"

The two remaining scientists nodded, one slightly more hesitant than that other. The woman with auburn hair seemed new and uncertain, unlike Fisher, the older and most senior personal next to McKay himself. Satisfied with their mild enthusiasm, McKay went on, "Fine, the two of you start looking for something like a log or a database in one of these computers. Start there and work your way around." When they moved off to oblige, he went straight to one of the consoles next to the glass chamber. Golding and Armes followed suit.

"Getting the chamber open is probably the easy part," Rodney said aloud, whether he meant it to be public knowledge or not. "The hard part is determining how reliable they'll be, consider—_agghh!_"

The instant Mckay's hands touched the surface of the datapad, a white light flashed, jumping from the device and straight into the physicist's body. He yelped sharply and fell backwards, half-thrown and half losing his balance. Before he hit the ground, Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon, Lorne and Padley all had their weapons drawn and armed at the circle of consoles.

"McKay!" Sheppard called, hurrying over to him. Rodney was now on his back, staring and blinking at the ceiling. "Hey, are you okay?"

To his surprise—and that of everyone else, the scientist sat up abruptly, with no tell or trace of drama attached. Sheppard stepped back, eyeing his teammate suspiciously and said slowly, "Rodney?"

Rodney looked up at him with a confused tilt of the head, as though he were just waking up from a dream. "Oh," he said listlessly. "Sheppard. Hi."

"What?"

McKay blinked again. "That was strange."

"What was strange?"

"That!" the scientist said helpfully. And then, "How long was I out?"

"I don't…" Sheppard knew McKay could be weird, but this traipsed all over the line. "Two seconds? Maybe three? Rodney, what the _hell_ was that thing?"

"What thing?"

"That _thing_ that just jumped into your skin! Right when you put your hands on that thing, it shocked you, remember?"

"Major, what are you talking about? I was just sucker-punched by some old guy in a black suit! He's…was just…right there, a second ago."

The colonel didn't fail to notice that slip up. His defenses went up, and so did the P90 in his hands. He wasn't about to point it at him, obviously—he knew better than to traumatize his answer man. "Rodney, I'm a Lieutenant Colonel now…remember?"

Again, the scientist looked confused as Teyla and Ronon moved in, concerned. "Huh? What did I say?"

"You called him 'Major'," said Ronon guardedly.

"Oh. Well, I meant to say 'Colonel'. Obviously. But seriously, I'd like to know…what just happened? There was some weird…guy, screaming at me about a bunch of people, and then…I ended up here. Oh, God…my head, my head…that's a migraine just waiting to happen…"

"Did anyone else see this guy?" Sheppard asked the group. No one said anything. The new recruit looked ready to run out of the room in fright. He turned to Rodney. "Nope. We only saw you getting viciously thrown to the ground by a non-corporeal bright light, McKay. Aside from the headache, do you hurt anywhere else?"

"No," the scientist grumbling, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, not appreciating being treated like a child in second grade. John helped him balance out as his teammate came to his senses. Rodney glanced at his face, doubtfully. "Other than feeling like my head is about to split open like an overripe melon, no, I'm fine. I'm sure there was someone…"

"Maybe you should sit down, Rodney," said the colonel firmly. "I'm telling you, no one punched you. That Ancient thingy scrambled your brain a little. Now, I'm going to take the jumper back to the 'gate and call Beckett—

"No!" McKay said suddenly. Sheppard's eyes widened. "Look, you're right, Colonel. The console had a power surged and I got zapped. It happens. But trust me when I say I'm thinking clearly now. I'd like to get back to work, if that's okay with you."

"_No one_ is touching that thing until I get Carson to check you over," said Sheppard, getting a little pissed. "Don't argue," he added, before the man had a chance to. "It's not open for discussion. And don't think I won't zat you just because it's your birthday."

Yeah. Some of the military personnel sported zats now, for the finer details of missions gone wrong. For example: a raging horde of angry villagers. Zats were handy when it came to neutralizing threats that weren't necessarily evil, just…misguided. Plus, it was pretty handy when it came to threatening McKay into obedience. Hell, he'd tried every other form of negotiating. Lemons and zats worked a long way towards the path of Rodney's cooperation.

But truthfully, today wasn't going so well for Rodney. And Sheppard had experienced his fair share of shitty birthdays, one of which involved a place in the Middle East and a black mark on his record he preferred not to think about. So yeah, he wouldn't zat Rodney on his birthday, unless it was really, _really_ necessary.

No lemons this time, either. Sheppard sighed.

Damn.

"Teyla, you're with me. Ronon, stay here and make sure he keeps his fingers to himself, and Lorne…" He paused. "I need you to check the perimeter—stay sharp. We don't know for sure that we're alone."

And like a curse, the moment the words left his mouth, they were suddenly pitched in darkness. Auburn-haired recruit squeaked in panic. It took a few moments for the backup power source to kick in, and soon they were washed in glowing blue lights.

Almost the instant after it happened, something flickered in the corner of his eye. Sheppard spun and pointed his P90, tightening his finger on the trigger.

There was nothing there. Suddenly, another movement caused him to jerk in another direction. He greeted another legion of shadows. Not Wraith shadows, just…moving shapes in the dark corners of the room. Beside him, Ronon and Lorne were reacting the same way, at different targets. McKay just looked sick.

A popping sound pierced the room fogged with invisible foes, but the fear arched through his heart and prevented Sheppard from looking elsewhere. Silently. Slowly. It was like living in a dream state, where his body no longer belonged to him, but to someone else—a hunter, a prey and neither one all at once.

And then it was all over. After a few moments of ghost hunting, the blue lights went out again and the room flickered back to life. Gradually, John's heart started to slow down to a normal rhythm. His head felt clouded, as though he had just spent several hours swimming underwater. He looked around, to make sure his team was okay.

Only to find Teyla slumped to her knees, bleeding freely from a bullet wound in her shoulder.

McKay was on the floor across from her, unconscious, his face twisted and streaked with sweat. The berretta in his hand was cradled loosely in his grasp, still warm from having fired only moments ago.

And all Sheppard could think, on top of the oncoming flood of instinct and gut feeling was…

Damn.

* * *

TBC

AN: Next update will be soon, hopefully.


	2. Shadows

**_Rules of War_**

* * *

"When life hands you a lemon, say 'Oh yeah, I like lemons. What else you got?'"

—Henry Rollins

* * *

-_Chapter Two: Shadows_

_-_

**12:12 pm, Ancient Satellite Power Room**

This was the sort of thing that always reminded him of the movies—just the really old Western ones with the really clichéd good guys and bad guys. The thing was, in the movies, when guns start blazing, it's impossible to tell just what the hell's going on until it's over. And suddenly it's over, and when you wake up, you're the one holding the smoking gun. And you realize too late that it's not the Indians who are responsible.

He'd never seen the movie "Space Cowboys" before, but he had a feeling it would relate pretty closely to whatever this was.

McKay blinked his eyes as he sat up, and found himself staring down the barrel of a P90. He froze in place, glancing upwards with widened eyes. Lorne, the patriot who happened to be holding the gun, lowered it carefully when the scientist didn't spring for his throat.

Oh, God. Teyla. He'd shot Teyla. He remembered pulling the trigger…God, he remembered turning to her and raising the gun. If it hadn't been so dark, he would have shot her through the heart. He could've killed her!

But it was so dark…and there was something…something in his head. Something very, very dangerous, very…bad. It had to be the computers, or this satellite, or the ZedPMs. It had to be the lights, the air, or the device that had shocked him—it had to be anything but him. His throat swelled up in panic. He didn't want to shoot Teyla. He would never hurt her. Never. He'd tried to fight against it, to open his fingers and drop the gun before he fired, but they wouldn't respond…

It was gone. The gun had been removed from his hand and now he was unarmed. Harmless. Okay, that was good. The biting impulse to wreak havoc was sedated immensely by this.

Lorne was looking at him with a blank expression. Behind him, Colonel Sheppard said something under his breath and the stepped aside wordlessly. And then there was Sheppard, standing over him like the high school principal. His face was cold and distant.

"Are you okay?" he asked listlessly, without the barest shred of sympathy.

McKay winced inwardly. Sheppard wasn't just pissed off. He was cool, calm and composed—he was beside himself. The last time it had been this bad, McKay had accidentally annihilated five sixths of a solar system. This was bad.

"I'm fine," he responded quietly. "Look, Colonel, I know what this looks like—"

"Oh?" The icy stare hardened. "What's it look like, Rodney? You _shot_ Teyla!"

"I know!" he snapped angrily. "Do you honestly think I'm not aware of that? I was _there_, Sheppard, _I_ shot her, I was…" He swallowed, the sticky feeling in his throat turning dry. "I was watching," he whispered. The colonel couldn't hear him.

An uneasy silence passed between them.

"How…how is she? Is she okay?" he asked.

"Well, she has a goddamned hole in her shoulder, Rodney. How do you think she feels?"

"I'm sorry, Sheppard! I'm. Sorry. There! Is that what you want to hear?" McKay stood up suddenly, the blood rushing to his face angrily. And then he went right back to being distraught. "I didn't mean…I didn't…"

"Save it, McKay," the colonel broke off harshly. "But you know—the next time you go firing your gun without _looking_ at where you're aiming, that will be the last time. Ever."

Half of him felt immensely hurt by that, but the other remained stuck in the realization that Sheppard just _assumed_ he'd been careless without ever questioning him. Well, fine. If that was how he wanted it to be, McKay saw no reason to correct him. Besides, anything he said now would only seem like an elaborate lie or excuse to squirm out of responsibility for what he'd done.

And that other part of him sunk into his gut like a heavy stone. Was he really dangerous? Maybe it was…maybe it was carelessness. Maybe he'd imagined his own body moving against his will. It could be carelessness. It all seemed like a big, distant blur to him now. Yeah, it was a mistake. Him, hallucinating old men with fists of steel, shooting at ghosts and injuring Teyla.

One big mistake. He'd have to add it to the tally when he got back to Atlantis.

He realized Sheppard was staring at him expectantly. Lifting his chin to meet his gaze, he snapped, "What?"

"You're not telling me something," the colonel said.

"What are you, my mother?" he replied acidly. "Fine. You're right. I was careless. And I already said I'm sorry, didn't I? Right now I'm just a little more concerned about getting Teyla to the infirmary in Atlantis than dwelling on who's fault this is."

"Yeah, about that." Sheppard was still cold, but at least they were back to business. "We're not going back. The power's out."

"What?" he cried in disbelief. "No, no, no, that's not possible, we have to get Teyla back to Atlantis—"

"Not gonna happen, McKay. The transporter's dead, just like everything else. If we go anywhere, it's going to be close, and it will be inside the junk pile until we find a way back to the jumper deck."

Mckay's face dropped slightly, then lit up brilliantly. "Infirmary," he said quickly snapping his fingers. "The satellite's designed to also act as an outpost, so there's bound to be medical supplies around here somewhere. Right?"

Sheppard regarded him skeptically. "Are you sure?"

"Sure?" he said, not entirely aware of the word's significance. "Yeah, of course…I mean, infirmary, it has to be…somewhere nearby. This is the base level, and according the layouts of the other outposts…yes, I'm sure.

That was all the colonel needed, apparently, to be set into motion. He pulled away from him abruptly, striding past the spot where Teyla leaned against the edge of the metal platform. McKay's stomach twisted painfully when he saw the large red stain around the equally as bloodied bandages. Her head was tilted backwards, her eyes shut tightly, pensively. Obviously, she was in a lot of pain.

"I'm going with you," he said abruptly.

Sheppard spun on him. "What?"

"You're going to look for the supplies, aren't you?" McKay was mildly aware of Ronon staring at his back, but he pushed that uncomfortable thought to the back of his mind. "You can't just wander off by yourself, not after what just happened. Not to mention there's bound to be at least a half dozen doors that need rewiring. We need to split up."

"None of you are going anywhere until you figure out what the hell's up with this place," John grated.

"And how do you suppose we do that, hmm? Do we stand around and just wait for the answer to drop on our heads? No, the only way we're solving this is by exploring as much of the satellite as possible!" Rodney was verging on a type of anger that he knew was not part of him. He not only felt like disagreeing with Sheppard, but he was struggling with the urge to throw himself at his throat and strangle him to death.

_I'm tired,_ he corrected immediately. _It's my birthday, I'm cranky, and I'm overreacting. There's three reasons I feel like I'm ready to choke the life out of my best friend. It doesn't mean I'm losing my mind._

Not yet, anyway.

The next thing he knew, Sheppard was standing just inches away from his face, staring him down with a meaningful presence. Despite his state of irked unrest, McKay found himself leaning back under the colonel's intensity. He felt something sharp jab him in the chest, and looked down. Sheppard had the handle of his zat gun pressed stubbornly against his ribs. "I trust you, McKay," he said lowly. "I really, really do. But I'm not in the mood to tolerate another accident, so until you prove you can work as a part of this team, this is all you get."

The zat dropped, and Rodney barely had enough time to catch it before it fell to the floor. Dumbstruck, he just cradled the alien weapon in front of him and watched as Sheppard turned his back. He couldn't even think a full sentence.

It swelled inside of him. The anger, the frustration and the unreasonable desire to lunge out and destroy something—he couldn't be imagining this. The zat gun felt hot in his hands, like a red-hot coal ready to pop at any moment. It itched. It burned. It crawled inside his brain. He was infected.

Sheppard's voice was like a far-away scream. "Lorne, you and Padley are staying here with Teyla. Ronon, you're with me. As for the rest…" His eyes swept over the faces of the scientists. "You'll be safe here, with Major Lorne."

"Dr. Yolane. She should come with us," McKay choked out. The words were like a reflex—a part of his brain that no willpower could overcome. What was he saying!? This was insane! "Just in case…something happens. You know. With me."

Rodney tried to use his mouth to form new words, but he was again seized against his own power. It was like attempting to bite through steel. It took a hold of him and prevented him from taking back what he'd just said. Yolane—that was the new kid's name—was just a new recruit. This was supposed to be her first off-world excursion. She was far, far better off staying where she was safe, here, in the main control center with Lorne.

She was a quiet, do-no-harm type of girl. And she was _just_ a girl, brilliant but fresh from her school years. She was typically green. He ignored her almost completely when they worked in the same vicinity, even though he had to admit—she was probably the nicest and least self-centered person at her age that he knew. Kind of reminded him of his sister. He'd seen her get into full-fledged battles of wit against Kavanaugh time and again, having separated several of them himself.

A good person.

Yet the shadow in his mind wanted her to come. It was now that he realized that even if he tried to speak about it, it would stop him. He couldn't say anything to reveal its presence. And he knew, without fully understanding why, that it didn't want to take Yolane along for the company. It wanted…to kill someone.

Someone in his brain wanted everyone to die.

Stupid, oblivious Sheppard and his willingness to trust him. The colonel looked speculative for only a moment before nodding once, sharply. "Okay, Yolane, you're with us. Golding, too. We need someone with a little history in medicine to help us find the right equipment."

No! Damn it, Sheppard, he always had to make things worse! McKay felt compelled to shout, scream, yell out how bad of an idea this was, but his jaw was locked shut. The best he could manage was a weak grunting sound that attracted as much attention as a cough might.

Someone put his one foot in front of the other and guided him to the door. He looked down as he passed Teyla and felt a fresh stab of guilt. Her pretty, tanned skin was paler now. Her breaths were regular and even, but hitched every so often with the pain of her wound. His wound. The one he'd given her. If she wasn't helped soon, preferably by Beckett and not a fifty-year-old physicist named Golding with a minor in biology, she was going to get worse. It dawned on him that, despite his fault, he was the one who could help her.

He, along with the colonel, Ronon and his two fellow scientists left the control room and slipped into the corridor. It was hard to tell if he was the one ruling, or if it was the nameless bastard in his body that led him through the halls of the satellite. At low power, the lights were dim and scarce. He saw shadows everywhere—places for people to hide, to jump out at him and stab him in the back.

Betrayal.

It was by far the most prominent of the negative feelings he felt. Was it his own betrayal, or was it the disembodied old man? Why couldn't he at least warn Sheppard about how dangerous this was?

The whole time they traveled—even to stop momentarily to interface with a handful of broken doors—Ronon marched behind him, on edge and ready to act at moment's notice. Actually, it was kind of relieving. The big guy was good at detecting the little things—like malicious ill intent of a non-corporeal being in the body of a friend who was, at the moment, scared shitless.

But it was there, waiting…for something. Watching. Planning. He might have whimpered with the frustration it caused him to be excluded from his personal invader's intentions, but the 'invader' wouldn't let him. He was helpless.

Eventually, the complex connection of hallways and common rooms began to take a familiar shape. It was his second nature to blurt out whatever was in his mind, so he did so as he recognized the way to the infirmary. "This is it," he hastily. "Over there, by those weird-shaped windows. That's the infirmary."

_Yes, it is. But you shouldn't concern yourself with that._

"What?" He stopped in his tracks and looked around. "Who just said that?"

Everyone paused with him, giving him their tentative interest. "No one said anything, Rodney," said Sheppard, slowly.

"No, no, they did. Someone just told me I shouldn't be concerned with it," he insisted, thankful that 'it' wasn't interfering with his ability to speak this time. "Who was that?"

_You thought I forgot you, Brandelis. You thought wrong._

"What?" he said, desperately this time. "What are you saying? Who are you?"

_Your disloyalty is still disgusting, even after these many years. But now you will die, with your mutinous friends by your side. Goodbye, Brandelis._

"Rodney?" Sheppard's voice lifted higher. "Rodney, look at me."

He did, but a moment too late. For as soon as John saw McKay's panicked, and hideously baleful expression, the corridor flickered, before immersing them in darkness.

He didn't like the dark. He didn't like what was inside of him. Even before he lost control, he felt the tension building up. Damn it, he was going to get them all killed.

No fighting it. It was strong. He was weak…and failing faster than was humane.

And then the blue light switched on.

* * *

AN: Oh, no. Not the blue light.

More action and angst next chapter. That's a double promise. (do those exist?)


	3. Lies

**_Rules of War_**

* * *

"He who fights monsters should look into it that he himself does not become a monster. When you gaze long into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes into you." 

--Friedrich Nieztche

* * *

- _Chapter Three: Lies_

-

**12:59 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary Airwalk**

Shadows came from the glow of the lights. One of them lunged at the group from behind, and Ronon spun around, firing at it. McKay jumped at the sound of the discharge, fumbling with the zat gun as the invisible enemy swirled around them.

Sheppard and the others were seeing things that he couldn't see. It was worse this time. Even the colonel was losing it to the shapes in the far corners of the airwalk. Where one shadow vanished, another appeared to take its place. Drs. Golding and Yolane pressed themselves against the wall, babbling incoherently in their state of terror as shots erupted everywhere.

But they were moving, and he was not. No one saw him charge the zat'ni'katel. No one saw the blood drain from his face as he lifted the weapon to aim at Dr. Yolane. No one but Sheppard.

McKay fired once. The surge of blue energy struck the unwary scientist and she crumpled. The driving force inside his skill tried to make him fire a second time, but he fought it, blocking out its overpowering urge to kill and steadying his hand for the slightest moment. He might as well have thrown himself at an oncoming freight train. It hesitated, but recaptured his body an instant later. He involuntarily squeezed the trigger.

Someone tackled him. The shot winged off course and hit the wall instead. He crashed to the ground with his assailant on top, dropping the zat'ni'katel as it skidded away out of reach.

His fists swung at the body pinning him down. One met squarely with Sheppard's jaw, which distracted him long enough for McKay to shove to his feet, throwing the colonel off. But Sheppard had predicated this and grabbed the front of his vest, jerking him forward. He slammed into the floor headfirst, the air knocked from his lungs.

Something brushed against his hand. Gasping, trying to regain his breath, he lifted his head with his face pressed firmly into the cold metal floor. The zat lay just in front of him. His arm shot out, scrabbling to rearm himself, but the weapon was then kicked to one side by a somewhat familiar foot. He strained his eyes to look up at the man looming above him, Ronon, with his blaster drawn.

Right before he was struck by the red wave of energy, he hoped that Ronon had remembered to set it to stun.

* * *

**1:04 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary Corridor**

Sheppard watched McKay drop like a stone—not that he had far to fall, but he still fell. A sliver of blood formed above the scientist's eyebrow, trickling across his sweat-streaked skin. Something about the way he just…flopped over made him feel sick. Sick of the fact that McKay _looked_ sick. Sick about what had just happened. This was only the second time it'd happened and he was already sick of it.

Sometime during the scuffle, the blue lights had shut off and power had turned back on. Ronon shot Rodney before he could do any more damage. Sheppard looked at him, thanking him with an unspoken message. He really hadn't wanted to go off on McKay like that, but the man was absolutely cracked. He'd almost killed Yolane with a zat gun! Hell, he'd done it on purpose!

"Is…is everyone okay?" Dr. Golding spoke up tremulously. He was crouched protectively over Yolane, still unconscious from the zat'ni'katel shot.

"Yeah," said John, surveying the damage with a glower. "Apparently. Ronon?"

"I'm fine," said the Satedan. "Sorry about McKay."

"No, you did the right thing," he responded, as though stuck on autopilot. "I don't know what the hell just happened, but I'm going to take a wild stab and assume it had something to do with the lights."

"Sheppard."

"Yeah?" he said vacantly, kneeling to turn McKay's body over so the man wouldn't have to wake up kissing the floor.

"This wasn't an accident," said Ronon.

"No, it most certainly wasn't."

"What should we do?"

The colonel lifted his eyes briefly before standing up again. "Wait until he comes around and talk to him. You know McKay. He tried to kill Yolane, and I don't care how much he hates his birthday—he's not like that."

"No," Ronon agreed.

He thought about moving Rodney into the infirmary, but if whatever was happening with the lights was going to happen everywhere, he decided he'd rather have it out here rather than in a smaller space. Just as he began brewing an alternative, Rodney's slurred moan brought him back to reality. He was regaining consciousness.

Which was insane. No one recovered from a stunner blast that quickly. John stepped backwards on impulse while the scientist cracked open his eyes and stared up at him. "Hello, Colonel," he mumbled.

"McKay," Sheppard said tersely. "It _is_ McKay, isn't it?"

"Think so," said the fallen scientist faintly. He blinked exceedingly for a moment before propping himself up on his elbows.

Then he saw John's chagrined expression. "Oh." He scowled. "I get it. You expect me to apologize for not telling you about…" Suddenly, his jaw froze up. Oh, God, he'd hoped it was just a dream. But the force in his mind wouldn't let him speak the words. "About…it," he finished bitterly.

"It," the colonel echoes. "What is 'it', exactly, McKay?"

"I honestly...can't say."

"Can't say, or won't?"

"Do you really think I wouldn't tell you if I could?" the scientist snapped from his vulnerable position. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to go through something like this and not be able to say anything?"

"You're saying it now," Ronon pointed out. "That's something, isn't it?"

McKay shot him a look, but it was grateful, not hostile. "Yeah, I guess so. A lot of good it does. It's just…every time I try to talk about it…" He froze again, realizing a moment too late that he'd been about to mention the entity living inside his head. Oh, great. Perfect. "That…happens."

"You mean…nothing happens," said the colonel.

"Exactly."

"You didn't shoot Teyla, did you?" The tone of his voice changed drastically. Rodney suddenly felt like a kid in fifth grade that had just been found stuffed uncomfortably into a locker. "This…'it', so to speak, was the one who shot her when those lights went on."

"Yes! That's it! There's a lunatic in my head and he wants to kill us all," said Rodney, grateful that he could finally explain himself.

Actually, he didn't.

That was what he _wanted_ to say—in fact, those were the words he thought for sure would come from his mouth. That is, until they did. And then he discovered just how powerful his puppeteer was.

Instead, this is how it went:

"I shot her," he half-choked. "Yes, _I_ shot her because she deserved it, Colonel. Think about that carefully. She'd be dead, actually, if she would've stayed still for just a second."

No. No, no, no, no, no…this was _not_ happening. This couldn't be happening! Who the hell was saying those words? This wasn't him…this wasn't even remotely him. Sheppard would see through this. There was no way he'd…actually think he meant it.

_Please_, he thought frantically. _Don't believe me, Sheppard, or I'm doomed. _

The reaction he'd dreaded never came. To be fair, the one he was hoping for didn't happen either. Instead, Sheppard stood back and drew his berretta, cocked it and aimed it at his forehead. "Who are you?" he growled. "What have you done with McKay?"

"Oh, don't play coy with me, Sheppard," Rodney found himself saying irritably. "_I'm_ McKay. I'm just tired of playing this game with you sycophantic parasites! You want to shoot me? Okay, fine—go ahead and shoot me. At least it'll put me out of my misery."

_Charming little insect, aren't you? Brandelis, you certainly have changed over the years._

What? No! I am _not_, nor ever have been someone named Brandelis! he thought drastically. Why are you doing this? Why are you so dead-set on killing my friends?

_Your what? Is that what they are? Well, won't this be all the more enjoyable to watch them die? After all, you killed mine._

That's not true! McKay was pretty sure he'd remember killing someone, and so far he wasn't the serial killer here. In fact, the only one who seemed to be absorbed with killing people was the raving lunatic in his head.

_We've done this before. You won't sway me with your mind games. Now come, join me, and stare into the face of your 'friend' as he pulls the trigger._

But Sheppard was not pulling the trigger. In fact, he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He'd kind of hoped threatening the thing controlling McKay's body would scare it into revealing its evil intentions. It worked that way in the movies, anyway.

It occurred to him that he'd been right about the rules of war—this kind of war, at least, had no rules. And you usually didn't see this type of thing in the movies.

He tried to think of an appropriate comeback to the snarky "scientist's" taunts, but he was rudely interrupted by a voice in his ear.

"_Colonel Sheppard, Lorne here. We might have a problem."_

Not taking his eyes off of McKay for a moment, John reached up and switched his radio on. "Lorne, this is kind of a bad time right now. Can this wait?"

"_Actually, it's pretty important, sir. Dr. Fisher's been doing a little research with the satellite's database and apparently there's a bug in the system."_

Sheppard continued to stare. "Really."

"_It's about Dr. McKay, sir. There's a chance he could be infected with something the ZPM device gave him."_

"Yeah, you might say that," the colonel replied with a flat 'tell-me-what-I-don't-know' tenor. "Is that all? Because I'm currently in the middle of this thing…"

"_Point taken, Colonel. I'll contact you when we have more to report. Lorne out."_

Switching the radio off again, he returned his full ferocity to the task at hand. Still the gun grasped in his fingers didn't waver. It bothered him that he was pointing a weapon loaded with live ammunition at the brain of his friend, but intimidation was kind of a neat trick when it came to alien…bugs. At least he hoped.

"Before we get into the whole clichéd thing about you letting Rodney go or me shooting his brains out," he started, moving forward. Now that McKay was standing, he didn't feel so much like a potential executioner. "I'd like to mention right now just how terrible I am at negotiating. The way I see it, his brain's no good to us with you still in it, so I have no problem putting a bullet through it if necessary."

The Man-in-Rodney's-Head said nothing. The physicist just glared angrily, fists clenched at his sides.

"Okay," Sheppard said slowly, rearming the berretta. "That was strike two. Now this is the part where I say 'Let Rodney go or I kill you'. Oh, yeah, and there's always that case of C4 we have back in the jumper. Just in case McKay hasn't told you already—I like blowing things up."

A terrible, sick smile spread across Rodney's face just then. With half-lidded eyes, McKay took two steps forward—and stood so that the gun's barrel pressed firmly against his skull. "Kill me," he said.

John's hand shook silently as he forced himself to keep it there. The scientist's eyes bored straight through him. Eyes that still had part of Rodney in them. He couldn't pull the trigger because McKay was, at that moment, staring straight back at him with a gun digging into his forehead. A gun with a bullet that was meant for the devil in his brain, not the frightened man trapped in his own body.

Maybe there were rules to this war after all.

There was a brief flash a triumph behind blue eyes—a subtle warning about what was about to happen shortly. The lights around them fazed in and out, giving off a distinctive buzzing sound as though they were struggling to survive. An instant later, McKay crumpled to the floor, out cold.

That was it. Nothing else happened. The lights were still on, and they were all still alive. Very slowly, Sheppard lowered his arm, expecting an army of shadows to jump out of nowhere at any moment. They didn't.

"What the hell just happened?" he said aloud.

And he got his answer.

"_Colonel Sheppard, please respond! This is Lieutenant Padley, Colonel_. _Please respond!"_

"Padley, what did you do over there?" Sheppard ordered into his headset. He was vaguely aware of Ronon kneeling next to McKay to check his pulse, but he knew the man was tuning in.

"_We haven't done anything, sir. The entire control room just went black a second ago, and when the power came back on, Major Lorne was gone."_

"Gone?" John growled, not believing this was true. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"_I mean he vanished, sir. We all saw a light of some kind—I think it was a Wraith culling beam."_

Wraith. Sheppard's muscles froze at the mention of the soul-sucking aliens that were _supposedly_ completely unrelated to this satellite in the slightest way. "He was _taken_ by the Wraith?"

"_No, sir, just one of their beams. But sir, that's not our only problem."_

"I had a feeling it wasn't!" snapped the colonel.

"_Dr. Fisher says the power surge caused several of the satellite's primary functions to fail, including life support."_

"He can't fix them?"

"_Unfortunately not, sir. He's been locked out of the satellite's main computer."_

"This just gets better and better," said Sheppard, seething with disdain. "What about life support? How many days of air do we have left?"

"_We don't have days, sir."_

"What?"

"_Fisher says the airlocks on the floors above us are open now. We're venting atmosphere like crazy. Without the CO2 scrubbers, what little oxygen we have won't last long.."_

John's stomach turned lopsided. He closed his eyes and composed himself before asking, "How long?"

Padley hesitated on the other end, possibly listening to the verdict straight from the doctor's mouth. He came back on moments later, bearing the news he really didn't want to hear.

"_Three hours, sir. Three hours until we run out of air."_

* * *

AN: This plot is thicker than my mother's Irish stew. Mmmm…stew. 


	4. Identity

**_Rules of War_**

* * *

"Any fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius--and a lot of courage--to move in the opposite direction." 

--Albert Einstein

* * *

- 

_Chapter Four: Identity_

_-_

**1:37 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary **

"We need a plan," said Ronon.

To get right down to the core of their situation, they were stuck in the infirmary quad. Worse, they were stuck in the infirmary with loads of useful medical supplies with no way to deliver them to Lorne's group—Padley's group, actually, now that Lorne was missing.

Sheppard couldn't help but worry about Teyla's condition. The lieutenant didn't mention her in his last report. And the strange power variations weren't helping the strength of their radio signals either. Rodney had been right about the electromagnetic interference, though. Every time the lights flickered, their connection became hazier.

Worse still, McKay had yet to recover from his 'nap'. This was his…what, third time being unconscious since this morning? The whole damn thing was starting to feel like a conspiracy. Who'd have figured his answer man would be the one infected with a computer bug?

The cherry on top of this flavourful cake of inopportunity was their two-and-a-half hour breathing limit. Atlantis wasn't expecting them to check in for another three hours, and there was a good chance the satellite would be nothing but a weightless vacuum by then.

They needed a plan.

"Yeah," he agreed tiredly. "A plan would be nice. I don't suppose you have any."

Ronon's blank expression said 'no'.

"I might," said an accented voice. Dr. Golding was standing at a console near the table, rummaging through some of the files and attempting to hack into the main computer. With their attention diverted to him, he suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I…I mean, maybe. It's nothing. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Well, don't just stop there. Now I'm curious," Sheppard said with a refined edge.

"The computer bug," said Golding, a little hesitantly. "As far as we know, Dr. McKay was infected by it after he touched the ZPM device. But if it spreads through physical exchange, we would all be carrying it by now."

"True," John said ponderously.

"Well, I've been doing some investigation of the medical logs here, and the amazing thing is…there are none."

Okay, thought John. That was a little strange, but he couldn't see how it helped them help Rodney. Or themselves, for that matter. His wrangled expression must have given him away, because Golding rambled on.

"Colonel, if there are no logs, then it stands to suggest that there were never any people living here," the scientist said with a quivering note of urgency. "Or the entries may have been erased by the virus. One way or the other, I believe the ZPMs might be nothing more than an elaborate trap to get one of us infected."

It all clicked together perfectly. Sheppard reeled from that mental blow, suddenly understanding why the concept of free ZPMs and a giant abandoned weapon seemed too good to be true. "Well, that…would explain a lot."

"Why would the Ancestors do that?" said Ronon.

"The Wraith."

Sheppard turned at the sound of McKay's voice, and found that his eyes were open again, staring at him. The scientist lifted his chin and sidled his back against the wall so he was no longer slumping. Then he looked disdainfully at his arms, fastened behind his back. "You tied me _up_?" he griped. "Would it have killed you to make sure I had _blood_ circulating to my hands at least?"

Not even slightly responsive to the man's act, John grabbed his berretta and strode forward, brandishing it at the scientist. "Stand up," he ordered him briskly.

Groaning, McKay did as he was told—with a bit of effort, since having his arms bound made him unbalanced. "That's not necessary, Colonel," he said stubbornly, glancing down at the gun. "It's really me this time."

Sheppard tilted his head challengingly. "Prove it."

Rodney's face flooded with one of his severely annoyed, though desperately patient mannerisms he was famous for. "Let's see…thinking, thinking…hmm…oh, here's a good one—if brains were money, you'd be a _charity case_," he spat with a sarcastic, venomous tone of voice.

John frowned. Yeah, that was McKay—very distraught, extremely pissed off and cranky McKay, but still him. Slowly, he lowered the weapon until it was pointed at the floor. "Okay," he said simply. "Works for me. Turn around."

Realizing the colonel intended to cut him loose, McKay obeyed quickly. Sheppard took out the knife in his belt (a weapon he felt inspired to carry around since the Hive Ship incident) and started to carve at the plastic binding.

"Wait, Colonel," Golding protested, moving towards them. "How can we be sure the bug in his mind isn't simply imitating Dr. McKay to gain our trust?"

"Because," he grated with the effort it took to slice through the damn thing. These things were tough! "The last time it did that, it…really sucked. I don't think it knows how to act."

"But—"

"Listen, McKay's been part of my team for about three years now," John cut him off—not to be rude, just to make his point. "Let's just say I know it's him, and leave it at that. Besides, he's the only one who can figure out how to get Lorne back."

The strap finally snapped and Rodney turned around, rubbing anxiously at his wrists. "The Wraith," he said grimly. "The one in my head, I mean. It set the ZedPM trap for us to find and we fell for it."

"I thought you couldn't talk about it," Ronon pointed out. He didn't say it in a distrustful way, either. He was just being…well, Ronon.

"I couldn't," said McKay. "It…him, I mean…the Wraith—" He was getting flustered. "It's still unconscious right now. Just before I passed out, I saw…glimpses, I guess, of some things. Look, Colonel, you can't trust anything I say. In fact, you shouldn't even be doing that now, but this is…I mean, this thing is dangerous, Sheppard. _Very_ dangerous. This Wraith, it's…not just a bug, it's…" The physicist faltered, blinking distractedly. John immediately recognized the signs of a struggle.

"Rodney?" he said cautiously.

"It's…" McKay inhaled deeply. "It's getting…harder to say things again. The Wraith…the…" Suddenly, he gave a strangled cry and grabbed his head, doubling over.

"McKay!" John lurched forward, just as the room around them started to flicker rapidly. The blue lights that lined the walls let out a loud, high-pitched whining sound. Suddenly, the one closest to Dr. Golding popped. Shards of blue glass went flying in all directions.

Then it stopped. John was gripping McKay's shoulder in one hand and the scientist was still clutching his head bleakly. After a moment, he stumbled back against the wall and leaned there, panting slightly. Sheppard withdrew his hand suspiciously.

McKay looked up at him in confusion, then down at his hand, and back to Sheppard. "I…I did it," he said breathlessly. "I fought against it…and won." No sooner than he'd said it, he winced against something that was obviously very painful.

"Yeah, and look what it did to you," growled John. "You're shaking like a damn leaf, McKay. It could've killed you!"

"I doubt that, Major," Rodney said dourly, rubbing his palm against his forehead.

"Colonel," Sheppard corrected automatically.

They each froze in their placed, realizing different things in the same instant. Sheppard realized that he was no longer talking to McKay and McKay realized that he was not the one in control.

Face darkening savagely, the physicist lunged at him and swung his fist. But John was quick, ducking under Rodney's arm, coming up behind him in one swift movement. McKay spun around, and John did the first thing that came to his mind—he punched him. Hard.

Rodney stumbled back, clutching his face with an offended yell. "_Ow_! What the _hell_, Sheppard? You just broke my nose!"

"Wait!" John barked at Ronon, who had his blaster drawn and was moments away from shooting their teammate. "He's back. Rodney?"

"_What_?" he snapped angrily. "Seriously, was that necessary, Colonel?"

"You started it!" John protested.

"I did not!"

"You tried to hit me!"

"That wasn't me, it was the Wraith!"

Annoyed, yet immensely relieved at the same time, Sheppard stepped forward and pulled the scientist's hand away from his face. "Move your hand. Here, look, it's not even bleeding. You're fine."

"I am not fine!" McKay shot back, but the accusation had lost its bite. He lowered his hands, looking stubborn and angry.

"I…hate to interrupt," said Dr. Golding, who was still standing beside the medical console. "But we have only a little more than two hours to get life support back online, Colonel."

"We still have to find Lorne. And help Teyla," Ronon stated, having placed his gun back in its holder. If Sheppard trusted McKay, he trusted McKay. "Not to mention finding a way to open those doors."

"What? What…and what?" Rodney asked with genuine perplexity. He'd been unconscious when those problems arose…aside from Teyla's injury, obviously. "What's wrong with life support? Oh…" he groaned. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"

John sighed heavily, exchanging looks with Ronon. "Let's just get him up to speed and we'll start from there."

"Good idea," the Satedan agreed.

McKay just groaned again.

* * *

**2:01 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary**

"Any luck?"

McKay winced inwardly at the question, now hovering over the console Golding had been working at just minutes ago. Aside from his aching body and the urge to throw up all over the place, and the uncontrollable shaking and the pressure in his skull…he hadn't directly felt the presence of the Wraith in his head since Sheppard punched him. It was almost as though it was trapped behind a fragile barrier in his brain and tore at it mercilessly, breaking it down piece by piece.

And it hurt. He felt like he was going through the enzyme withdrawal all over again, only this time it wasn't a psychotic craving he felt, but the sickening desire to start destroying things. It was a feeling he had to suppress, and it wasn't easy.

"No, Colonel," he said gratingly. "Nothing. The past five times you asked me that question, it was nothing. And five minutes from now, when you ask me if I've had any luck, it will _still _be nothing!"

"We're running out of time, Rodney. If you don't figure this out soon, we're all screwed," John pointed out with a tone of warning.

"Don't…talk to me about screwed," McKay shot back, his voice shaking, breath shuddering. He vaguely remembered the colonel saying the exact same thing to him once before…but he couldn't remember when.

It made John silent, though. Whether it was what he said or the fact that he was on the verge of hyperventilating that did it, the colonel stopped nagging him and stood back, looking—for whatever reason—concerned. Did he _not_ realize that he needed to concentrate? Why couldn't he just leave a brilliant scientist alone to think…for just a few seconds…?

"Rodney…" John sounded strange. Was that alarm in his voice?

"What?" McKay barked at him, glaring.

The colonel didn't say anything. He had this blank 'holy shit' look on his face and McKay knew…right at that moment, that something was very wrong. Slowly, Sheppard lifted a hand to the side of his head and indicated his ear.

Confused, McKay copied the act and prodded, feeling something warm and slick pooled in the crevices of his own ear. He lowered his hand to examine the substance, and found his fingers smeared with blood.

Oh, God. He was bleeding from the ears.

He knew he was supposed to feel scared. There were all kinds of frightening diseases that involved this kind of thing. It also happened when your eardrums burst, but…he could still hear. He knew they hurt, but through the pain already coursing through his body he'd barely noticed it. And strangely, even though he was absolutely horrified by the notion that blood starting to drip from the sides of his head, he felt both scared and…angry.

_Very_ angry.

"Is…" he said, swallowing dryly. "Is this supposed to scare me?" he yelled into the air, hoping that it heard him. "You can do better than that, Wraith! You want to kill me? Go ahead! Because whatever it is you're trying to do, it won't work!"

He fell quiet, breathing heavily with the exertion of the outburst. Fire burned in his chest, arms, legs, everywhere. The Wraith had heard him. Now it was raging in his head like a tidal wave, drowning out his own thoughts with it's own cold-blooded anger. He fought back, bracing himself against the onslaught with the only weapon in is possession—his mind. The clash felt like something heavy and heard thudding into his chest, knocking him down. With an airless gasp, he collapsed on top of the console.

It happened like a slow-motion scene from a drama. Rodney weakly tried to grip the top of the workstation in a feeble attempt to stay upright, but he slipped anyway. His body hit the floor in a heap of useless limbs, in cold agony.

This was it.

He was going to die.

Ruthlessly, the force inside him started to rip every coherent thought from his mind, set every nerve in his body ablaze. And he thought, faintly, that maybe this was how it felt to be fed upon by a Wraith…from the inside.

He thought he heard Sheppard shouting to him. He wanted to black out, to lose his grip on reality…even to die, if it meant the end of the pain. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and it wasn't going to end. But he wouldn't lose consciousness—of course not. It wouldn't let him go that easily.

God, how he hated his birthday.

* * *

AN: He really shouldn't have done that…oh, well. 


	5. Dogma

**_Rules of War_**

AN: Well, today something weird happened. I couldn't bring myself to keep writing. It's not writer's block, though…I just can't seem to think properly. Stress, maybe? I spend five or six hours straight writing these chapters and I fall asleep around 5:00am, so…I tend to get weird…anyway, that said, I apologize beforehand if this chapter is a little zonked. Kinda like me. (grimaces)

* * *

"Science is always wrong. It never solves a problem without creating ten more." 

--George Bernard Shaw

* * *

_**-**_

_Chapter Five: Dogma_

-

**2:09 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary**

A drum, a heartbeat, a pulsing _throb_ in his head made the world feel like layers of Jello. He hadn't actually lost consciousness, but he was past the point of caring. After a few minutes, the Wraith had given up trying to torment him with physical pain and retreated into the corner of his mind again. Rodney lay with his back against the floor, staring blankly into space.

_You know, Brandelis, you did leave me no choice. You deserted me, left me to starve, to live only a meager half-existence._

"Stay with us, McKay," called Sheppard's voice, distant yet annoyingly close by. The colonel shook his shoulder, but Rodney shrugged him off, irritated.

"G'way," he said languidly.

_You had brought me to light. We were equals. But then, you woke in me my old nature. You made me Wraith…again! _

"Never…did anything," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Crazy…you're crazy. I'm not…go 'way…"

_You abandoned me! Trapped me! Your drugs made it impossible for me to sleep, brother. I was forced to use the program you created in order to survive._

Oh…it had to be kidding. The same life-sucking monster that had just spent the past two hours trying to kill his friends and _tortured_ him with incommunicable pain was calling him a brother! And what the hell was this program it was on about? God, his head felt like it would split open. Where was Carson when you needed him?

S_oon I will no longer care why you have done this. Your death will finally soothe that hunger I have had for so long._

For some reason, he thought of the old guy in the suit. Funny, considering this was how it all began. The first thing he remembered was the man in black—the Wraith, now that he thought of it…the white hair had thrown him off. Right before he'd touched the ZPM console, he saw a glimpse of it. Dressed in black, with its hair cut short and eyes bloodshot and red, screaming at him about something…he couldn't remember.

It wasn't so much realization than it was the general sort of 'okay, so I'm screwed' acceptance that got to him. He was learning things from the Wraith, just little flashes of information and data in the form of images and arbitrary words that half of the time didn't make any sense. It all came down to the inevitability that it would win him over, take control of his body and kill everyone while they senselessly tried to get life support back online.

It didn't want to suffocate everyone. No, because that would be too kind for a Wraith to commit. What it really wanted was the personal satisfaction of hunting down every last human being in the galaxy and ripping their heads off for retribution.

He tried not to think of it as a scale, on which he put is own natural, overwhelming feeling of self-preservation above the possibility of saving the others. Seriously, it just wasn't that mundane. It never was. He knew the Wraith had a plan, and it involved using Sheppard's gung-ho canon against killing his own teammates to gain the advantage.

But he couldn't say that, of course.

"Rodney!"

His mind jolted to the present. Blinking, McKay turned his head to find Sheppard crouched beside him—Ronon hovering over his shoulder with the blaster pointed at him—which figured. Then he remembered where he was supposed to be. He was in the Ancient infirmary with Golding, Yolane and the others. Attempting to sit up, he found miserably that it took a lot more effort than it should have. At least it wasn't hurting him. Of course, this was the perfect time to be optimistic.

"You're…you're not him," he said a little breathlessly, addressing the colonel. He'd said more intelligent things before, but the memory of _thrashing, terrifying agony_ was still fresh in his mind. That and other depressing things.

"Not who? The Wraith?" said Sheppard. "Clearly, I'm not. Speaking of which, is it just me, or did you just piss it off?"

"Oh, you _think_?" Rodney snapped harshly. "Honestly Colonel, do I look like the kind of person who enjoys writhing on the floor—in an insurmountable amount of pain—because it's a hobby?"

"I'm just saying," the colonel replied. "Maybe it's best if you don't do that again, Rodney. It was pretty _scary_. Now, can you move or should I get Golding to look you over?"

Frankly, what he really wanted to do was break down and curl up in the middle of a wide, open field with soft yellow grass and a blue sky that stretched on for more kilometers than a lifetime could explore. McKay wanted to explain to Sheppard that, despite what he might think, not even the most professional and adamant doctor in the universe—not even Carson—could help him anymore. This wasn't just a Wraith in his head—this was a rancorous, unforgiving, completely _insane_ Wraith with the motivation and the ability to kill every single member of his team. What was worse was the fact that it was in complete control of the satellite's systems and, at any moment, would choose to self-destruct rather than let them escape alive.

Funny, how the Wraith just seemed to…give him the answers to everything, but leave out the details that led to its unyielding wish to suck the life out of him. Obviously, it couldn't read his mind or his memories, otherwise it would stop calling him Brandelis and maybe even leave him alone…

Scratch that, it wouldn't leave him alone any more than a starving bear would ignore a thick, juicy steak. That left only one choice. One, miserably, measly little choice.

"Move," Rodney said abruptly, and staggered to his feet. Sheppard backed off, eyeing him strangely. "Seriously, Colonel, stop doing that. I'm fine. And Ronon, it's bad enough my brain feels like a rock. I don't need a gun pointed in my face, either, hmm?"

"Sorry," said Ronon, and switched the setting on the blaster to stun. "Is this better?"

"Oh…" he groaned softly, so exhausted. "Fine. Threaten my all you want, just move out of my way and let me get to work."

The Satedan stepped to one side and McKay shuffled past him, diving into the infirmary's console almost immediately. There was something particularly disturbing about the way Ronon dealt with trust—basically, if it showed any signs of baring teeth or claws, it was an enemy. Normally, he'd be offended that anyone could possibly think of him as dangerous, but under these circumstances he had to agree with the big guy. Fooling Sheppard into splitting up their already diminutive team was one thing, but Ronon was just a hopeless case of pure hatred for Wraithkind.

Maybe that was it. Ronon didn't trust him because he was infected by a Wraith…he didn't have to take it personal or anything, right? Oh, for the love of…did it really even matter anymore? He kept forgetting the circumstances of being a Wraith puppet—he was a _puppet_. He could be channeling Elvis for all he cared, and it was still plainly obvious that he was going to lose control over his body sooner or later.

But he couldn't say this, of course.

The infirmary's computer was incredibly redundant—huh, 'incredibly redundant'…why did that remind him of Zelenka? But he wasn't surprised at the system's sheer simplicity, because he knew it wasn't even remotely linked to the bigger (and with his luck, possibly much more dangerous and sinister) mainframe somewhere far above them on another level. All he had to do was figure out where…

"Here," he said several minutes later, pointing to a spot on the screen. The Wraith wasn't stupid, maybe, but it didn't think to erase the map of the station along with everything else when it set its trap.

Sheppard hovered over his shoulder and—oh, God, did he ever brush his teeth? Mckay let out a half-choked sigh, thought about flicking the colonel's head away and decided against it. But honestly, would the occasional Tic Tac kill him or what?

"This is the infirmary," he explained, tracing a finger caked with blood across the bottom of the display. "Over here, we have the auxiliary control room—that's where we found the ZedPMs. Teyla's there too, assuming Padley didn't try to move her somewhere else."

"He wouldn't," said Sheppard distractedly, focusing on the screen. "Damn. I hope she's okay. I wouldn't have left her behind if I knew this would take so long."

"Yes, well," McKay said quickly. "As you can see, these three sections of the satellite are locked down. It seems like the entire residential sector lost power a long time ago, which just proves my theory—

"Wait, you have a theory?" John suddenly cut in heatedly. "Why didn't you think about sharing this sooner?"

McKay glared at him long and hard. Wilting under the realization of how incredibly tactless he'd just been, the colonel nodded. "Right. Uh…never mind. Continue."

"As I was saying," the physicist went on acidly, "it proves my theory about the satellite's active ZedPM being nearly depleted. There are only two places running at full power are here and here," he said, jabbing at the respective places on the display. "One of them happens to be the hub, or the supercomputer of all of the satellite's first and secondary systems. The other one's probably a cargo bay of some sort…it's not far from the hangar where we parked the jumper."

"Sounds like you knew this already," said Ronon, his distrust in the scientist remorseless.

"If I already knew, I would have told you by now," McKay snapped back. "You do realize that shooting me will be _just_ as effective three feet away as it would be if your gun wasn't, say…I don't know, _in my face_?"

"Yeah. And?"

"Ladies," warned Sheppard.

"Could we not bring life support back online from the mainframe of the satellite's computer?" Golding asked from his spot across the room.

"Yes, _I_ might," said McKay. "I could also probably do a full system's diagnostic to pinpoint the specific energy buffer where the major's being held."

"About that." Sheppard crossed his arms. "I've been wondering. If that Wraith is in your brain, Rodney, than just who exactly was controlling that beam that grabbed Lorne?"

The scientist purposely diverted his eyes. "I can't answer that."

"Ah."

"Here's a question," said Ronon. "How exactly are we supposed to get to another level if the doors won't open?"

"Well, I can make them open, _if_ I can get inside here," McKay explained, clearly on the fringe of a mental breakdown. He traced his finger to a tiny rectangular section at the two o'clock position from the infirmary block. "From this maintenance hatch, should be able to access the router to this section of the level and disconnect the power manually. If my calculations are correct—which, by the way, they are—then that might be enough to reset the lockdown."

There was one thing about McKay that was absolute, and that was his appalling ability to tell a lie. When it came to techno-babble, however, he didn't have to worry about authenticity. His voice was so incredibly worn-out that it masked the untruth and no one suspected him in the least.

"Okay," said Sheppard. "At least that's something. Where is this mystery hatch, Rodney?"

"It should be right outside," the scientist replied a little breathlessly. There was sweat now mingling with the blood on his face—he had to tendency to wipe his eyes and scratch his chin a lot, and now there were streaks of red everywhere.

The prospect of misleading everyone wasn't a comfortable one. He tried his utmost to avoid the colonel's eyes as he strafed out of the infirmary ahead of the others. If they all didn't wind up dead when this was over, the truth was justly undeniable:

Sheppard was going to kill him for this.

* * *

**2:25 pm, Ancient Satellite Conjunction 4-1**

"_That's_ the hatch?"

Sheppard's condescending tone wasn't helping matters much. Or his claustrophobia. Scowling, Rodney shot him a look that dared him to turn back on his masterful plan. "No, Sheppard, I just thought I should randomly point out this completely redundant decorative square on the ceiling. _Yes_, that is the hatch I was talking about. Were you expecting something a little more Matrix?"

"No, just…" The colonel frowned briefly. "Bigger, I guess."

The small metal door on the ceiling was, as a matter of fact, somewhat smaller than McKay had hoped. He'd been in tight places before, but this was ridiculous. And the ladder that led up to it looked like it was built for children. If he was lucky, it was snap under his weight and he'd fall and break his back or something. That way he wouldn't have to suffer Sheppard's wrath when he found out what his genuine intentions were. That, and he wouldn't have to be crammed into a space hardly big enough to be a tree fort.

"All right, so who's first? You or me?" said Sheppard, raising his eyebrows at the physicist.

"What?" McKay almost squeaked. His heart sped up rapidly. No, no, no, no, this was bad. Sheppard couldn't come with him—he would watch him like a hawk, and that wasn't even mentioning the fact that there wasn't a damn thing up there that even remotely resembled a router. "But…uh, you can't!"

Oh, real genius, McKay. As if 'you can't' was really going to stop him.

"You're not going up there by yourself, McKay," his teammate informed him with a tone of warning.

"Well, obviously!" he snapped. He had to think quickly. What could he possibly do to get out of this situation? "But…uh, I need someone to interface with the router at the exact same time as me, or I won't be able to keep track of both input and output power levels at the same time."

If Zelenka had heard him spout that loud of crap, the Czech might have slapped him. Luckily, neither Dr. Yolane nor Dr. Golding knew a tenth of what he did about this level of Ancient technology. And apparently Sheppard bought it too, because he fixed McKay's problem with his next sentence.

"Fine, I'll send Golding up there instead. You can fire a zat, can't you, doctor?"

Rodney snorted. "Your faith in me is incredible, Sheppard."

"Yes it is. It's that Wraith in your brain that frightens me," the colonel put daintily as he deposited the zat'ni'katel into the astonished Dr. Golding's hands. Mckay felt a surge of regret for the poor man—he never liked Golding much, but at the very least, he was a small speed bump in his impending plan to save their lives.

With a last, somewhat irritated, yet solemn look at Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, McKay grasped the icy metal of the ladder in his hands and started to climb. The hatch door was heavy and creaked when he shoved it open, feeling the slight vibrations through his feet as it landed topside down inside the incredibly tiny chamber. He pulled himself over the edge and flipped on the small flashlight he routinely kept in his pocket.

He sighed with immense relief when he saw what he was looking for—and it wasn't a router, or a breaker, or an energy module of any kind. He just hoped it still worked.

The Wraith was still silent. He felt disturbed by its lack of interference up to this point—but then, it couldn't read his thoughts directly so it probably couldn't predict a complex strategy any more than it could predict a chess game.

As Golding scaled the top of the ladder into the small compartment, McKay crawled towards the other end where he could stand and hunch over, facing the opening in the floor. Golding cracked something in his hands, which turned out to be a neon glowstick. No doubt the courtesy of John 'I-Think-Of-Everything' Sheppard. Soon, the five by eight space was bathed in a soft yellow light.

Rodney rubbed his hands together worriedly. It was now or never.

"So where is the…?" Dr. Golding started, looking around the compartment in mild surprise. Then he saw the look on Rodney's face. "Dr. McKay, are you all right?"

Putting on his best 'help-me-I'm-possessed' expression, McKay turned to stare at his fellow scientist with wide, panicked eyes. "I…uh…no…I think…"

The middle-aged man looked startled. He dropped the lightstick, trembling to regain his composure when he realized what was happening. This would probably the closest encounter to a Wraith he would ever be, to be fair, even if said Wraith was trapped in the body of an ordinary human being.

"I-I must have been wrong…the Wraith, I think it's—" McKay pretended to choke. If Sheppard could see him now, he'd have already laughed himself to death, saving him the trouble of saving the colonel's life. Maybe he should have paid better attention to his seventy-something-year-old drama teacher.

It didn't really matter, did it? He was improvising. Poorly. But improvising nonetheless.

To a bewildered, hapless scientist, McKay might as well have sprouted white hair and life-sucking tentacles. "D-D-Do you want me to…sh-should I do this n-now, or—" He fumbled with the zat'ni'katel, but in the dim light and with his reflexes, it wasn't going well.

Rodney decided to kick it up a notch. Ignoring Sheppard's inquisitive shouts from below, he blurted, "Are you crazy? Shoot me now, before it's too late!"

Oh, God. Melodrama. Now he wanted to shoot _himself_.

Golding's hand shook uncontrollably as he lifted the zat and pointed. Then McKay did something Teyla had taught him a long time ago—something he hadn't been able to practice until now. His hand lashed out, flipped the alien weapon out of Golding's grasp and turned it around on him. Poor Golding stumbled back in surprise, nearly tripped over the glowstick and gripped the sides of the compartment for support.

"No, no, no, I'm not going to hurt you," McKay tried to reassure him. "I just…I have to…It's complicated," he babbled, feeling stupid and selfish and _crazy_ for going through with this on his own. But it was necessary. He couldn't tell Sheppard how much danger they were in with words, so…the only way to solve this was to put himself out of the equation.

"Tell…" he said to his terrified coworker, swallowing dryly. "Tell Sheppard I'm sorry."

He fired. The energy weapon made Golding collapse into an unconscious heap on the floor. Before anyone below the compartment could react, McKay had the emergency airlock door behind him open and he ducked through.

Three shots from the zat'ni'katel melted the outer latch, ensuring that no one could follow him where he was going. He could hear Sheppard's enraged, muffled yells from the other side, but they weren't convincing enough for him to turn back now. Slowly, McKay turned around to face the long stretch of channels he knew passed beneath the floor of the upper level. He could already feel the dread well up inside him.

The Wraith had spent a very, very long time roaming these passages.

And now he would, too.

* * *

AN: Hmmm…not so sure that's the way I wanted that scene to go. What do you think? 


	6. Coercion

**_Rules of War_**

AN: Sorry about the you-know-what (no one likes the d-word). Things happened, I got sidetracked. Thanks for being patient. And I value every last one of you for your reviews.

The transition from Rodney to the Wraith is meant to be confusing. Sorry, everyone. But enjoy!

* * *

"War is too serious a matter to entrust to military men." 

--Georges Clemenceau

* * *

_-_

_Chapter Six: Coercion_

-

**2:43 pm, Ancient Satellite Sub-Level Corridors**

_No,_ thought Rodney. _No, no, no, no, no…_

There was no way…he hadn't…he couldn't have done what he knew he'd just done. Only the stupidest person in the galaxy would do something like this. Only an idiot would think this was a good idea. Because it wasn't. It really, really wasn't. It was bad. It was quite possibly the _worst_ thing he could do right now. It was ridiculous.

He sunk into the darkness of the narrow passage, bracing himself on the wall for support, trembling as the frigid air embraced him. These vents weren't made for warm bodies; they were exhausted of heat and the cold oxygen bit into his lungs with every breath.

Inhale. Hold. Thump. Exhale.

Something tickled just above his lip. He reached up with a reluctant hand and dabbed at the moist skin there. It was too dark to see anything, but he knew without a doubt that the warm substance was blood. It was on his hands too, glazing his fingertips. The brush of cool air against his head informed him that he was _still_ bleeding from his ears and now, apparently…everywhere else.

Inhale. Hold. Thump. Exhale.

It was sticky. He'd been bleeding…for how long? A few minutes, maybe? His nose, ears, fingernails and even his scalp were leaking. He was no Carson, but he knew enough to realize that the smallest blood vessels in his body had ruptured for some reason or another. And if they burst, then it wouldn't be too long before…before what? He bled out? From his nose and eyes? Was that even possible? Beckett would know. Where was Carson when you needed him?

A loud thump from the hatch made him jump. Sheppard shouted one last, incoherent word before leaving him in silence of the cold, dark prison. The Wraith wouldn't let Rodney get up at this point. He pictured the blue lights in his mind—or rather, it showed him images of the corridors swathed in the eerie glow of the shadows.

Inhale. Hold. Thump. Exhale.

So, yeah, it wanted to control him, and he probably wasn't going to survive its abominable plan. Death by fingernail bleeding…why was he always faced with the most humiliating demises? And why were the Wraith so damn crafty? He'd actually settle for a few caves filled with life-sucking insects the size of house cats right now. Bugs couldn't pollute your mind and make you do incredibly stupid things…like locking yourself in a sub-zero confederacy of catacombs with no means to survive on and no means of turning back.

It had felt like he'd been doing the right thing all along. Huh, and he'd thought he had the Wraith in the palm of his hand. This whole time, it was manipulating him, making him think he was doing the right thing when he was doing exactly what it wanted him to do. Maybe it realized it couldn't control him through a conventional approach, using his own mannerism against him. Sheppard was right about him—his negative heroics were going to be his own death.

Funny thing, how the mind tends to wander when you're slowly freezing to death all alone in a cold, almost airless passage. Hmmm…he was tired. Maybe relaxing and waiting for the inevitable wasn't so bad. He was exhausted. He could barely move. His face and hands hurt like hell.

Inhale. Hold. Thump…

The Wraith emerged.

* * *

-

**2:48 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary Escape Hatch**

Sheppard punched the door repeatedly, yelling, cursing, insulting McKay in as many ways and languages he could possibly think of before he ran out of breath. In the glow of the soft neon light, he could see the dark smears of blood on the handle, on the edges of the frame and a few drops on the floor.

When Golding woke up, he'd beat the shit out of him for not noticing what was happening. And when he got his hands on McKay, he'd smack him. Hell, he needed a good ass kicking himself, for letting Rodney go somewhere he couldn't keep an eye on him. He'd let the damn thing in his mind take over. Unless McKay really was trying to be a hero.

In which case, he'd kill him.

"This is _not_ the time for this! Open the damn door, Rodney!" His voice was hoarse from screaming at the man. He'd been angry before, but this was Academy-Award-winning material. "_McKay_!"

His voice was stifled by the compactness of the small chamber. It wasn't likely Rodney could hear him, let alone respond in kind. Whatever the hell was happening to him, it was only a matter of time before it got worse. John wouldn't let that happen. He'd get to Rodney before that damn _thing_ popped every vein in his body.

With one last, angry, frustrated kick to the metal door, Sheppard turned around and knelt next to the hatch that led to the corridor below. He hooked one arm around Golding's shoulders before slowly pulling him toward the edge. As he climbed, he lowered the unresponsive body with him. Ronon was there to catch the scientist before he crushed the colonel under his wiry mass.

"Where's McKay?" said the Satedan before Sheppard's feet touched the ground.

"Gone," growled the Colonel. "The Wraith took off the moment we gave it a chance."

"Where are you going?" With the scientist slung over his arm, Ronon followed the team leader as he stormed down the airwalk to the infirmary.

"To get Rodney's bag. We're gonna need C4."

"I thought you said—"

"Yeah, I lied."

Ronon knew better than to argue with Sheppard when he was ready to blow things up. The colonel grabbed the pack as soon as they were inside, flipping it open and rummaging behind the scientist's laptop to retrieve the small case of explosives. Vaguely, he remembered the argument he'd had with Rodney about it—McKay didn't want anything with that kind of potential to explode anywhere near him, let alone next to his precious laptop. Now all John had was the laptop—but not Rodney. He was practically glued to the thing.

McKay would never leave it behind. That's how he knew it was the Wraith's ingenious plan to escape. Whatever it wanted, he wasn't about to let it have it.

Ronon dumped Dr. Golding into Yolane's care and took off again, realizing the colonel had already left the infirmary. "Stay here," he ordered the scientists monotonously before the door slid shut.

"What if McKay's still there?" he asked their team leader as Sheppard tucked the C4 against his chest and started to climb.

"He's not. I figure, if the Wraith's the one who split, it's not gonna hang around and wait for us to catch up."

"And if it isn't?"

"If it isn't, then McKay knows about the C4, and also knows what I'm about to do. He won't be there." Sheppard vanished into the hole that was the emergency compartment. He kicked around for a few seconds in the dark. Golding's neon glowstick was dead, so he had to rely on the light from the opening behind him to navigate. It was cramped, stuffy and smelled faintly of warm metal. And blood. It reminded him strongly of the one time he'd been trapped in the back of a puddlejumper with a bug stuck to his neck.

_Don't talk to me about screwed_. He was never going to live this one down.

John found the handle to the door with fumbling hands. Squinting to see better, he opened the C4 case and took out two miniaturized sticks of the explosive. This mini-bomb kit wasn't good for much more than uprooting stumps and exploding small metal locks, but with enough it could pack a punch. Hopefully two sticks were enough.

He attached both the explosives and the remote to each, before crawling backwards towards the hatch. He was careful with the detonator—anything within twenty feet of this explosion wasn't going to survive. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped he wasn't wrong about Rodney not being there.

Ronon waited for him to descend the ladder, but said nothing.

"Get behind that wall," said the colonel, backing away from the ladder. "Even with the hatch closed, I have no idea how strong the blast'll be."

Together, they crouched around the corner, Ronon behind and Sheppard just behind the metal stripping. The corridor around him felt colder than it had before. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the air was also thinner. Within minutes, the satellite would be sucked dry, nothing but a vacuum inhabited by corpses.

It was too late to worry about it. He had to follow Rodney and hope he could think of some way to fix it. Clearing his thoughts, Sheppard nodded to Ronon, and hit the red switch.

* * *

-

**3:02 pm, Ancient Satellite Sub-Level Corridors**

In the torpid dream world, the floor and walls around him shook under a single, violent force. Pitched in blackness, his fingers barely scraped the smooth metal sheets. The sharp, stinging cold of the surface made his mind reel to and fro, out of conscious thought and back into the mental prison the Wraith had designed for him. Trapped, unable to access the physical faculties of his body.

The Wraith…huh, he had to stop calling it that. What would Sheppard call it? He always came up with the good names. Paul? Gary? Joe? Joe sounded like a name the colonel would use. Joe the Wraith.

Rodney wasn't Rodney anymore. Rodney was Joe. He felt dizzy, hot and confused, and about as giddy as someone who was losing blood rapidly and breathing less than a third of the oxygen required of the human brain to function normally. Joe didn't seem to mind. Joe was ecstatic. Somethin' about…some kind of life pod, and nanobites…nanites. Teeny tiny microscopic machines doing the bidding of the Wraith's teeny tiny brain…

He wondered what Wraith nanites looked like. Maybe they were like miniature little Wraith drones, with puny little arms and huge teeth for ripping apart white blood cells. Thousands of them, maybe millions, all swimming through his arteries like life-sucking fish.

Whirl. His—Joe's—vision swayed and dipped in great, long waves. With Joe using his body like a lifeless doll, he could see part of what the Wraith saw. He saw blue lights, like streaks of florescent goo on the walls. Whirl. They turned down another corridor. Whirl. Another one. He'd lost count of how many different passageways they'd passed through. Ten? Fifty? A hundred?

It didn't matter. Joe was going to eject his team into the crushing magnitude of zero gravity, breathless vacuum. Unless it changed it's mind. It was a Wraith—the one thing it wanted was to feed, right? How do you predict a Wraith who couldn't feed? Unless…oh, God, if it found a way to feed on others through him. That wasn't possible, was it? What if it found a way? He'd rather die than go through something like that. Thinking about it made him feel sick…

He felt the edge of agitation from the Wraith. Whatever it was doing, it was starting to improvise. The huge explosion behind them might have something to do with it. Obviously, that was Sheppard. But there was no way the colonel would be able to track them now, and on top of that there was the blue lights to worry about. If only he could leave a trail of bread crumbs…glow-in-the-dark crumbs. Then the colonel could follow them.

Maybe the little flecks of blood he'd been dropping everywhere would be enough. He should have bled more. Sure, he'd be in a near-catatonic state by the time they found him, but it might stop Joe. Evil Wraith-witch Joe in the gingerbread house…funny. He'd never thought he'd actually want to lose _more_ blood. His hands, wrists, the back of his neck were covered…how many places had blood vessels that small?

On second thought, he didn't want to know.

Suddenly, he was moving upwards. His arms clumsily grabbed and latched onto the rungs of another ladder and started to pull his body towards the level above. Joe used his hands to open the impossibly bulky hatch. A wave of warm air washed over him, granting him a slice of relief in the giant pie of doom that was looming overhead.

Rodney/Joe rolled onto the pastel coloured floor and rested for just a few moments. He was dragged heavily to his feet and stumbled towards the middle of some large room. It was brightly lit here, considerably warmer and the air was plentiful. His eyes adjusted to the light, recognizing the multitude of blue lamps on the walls. The Wraith turned his head to the large platform/machine hybrid in the middle of the room. Before he could see much, Joe then looked down at the open hatch. It crouched, and slammed the hatch door shut. Raising the zat'ni'katel, Rodney realized with dismay that it intended to trap Sheppard and the others in the catacombs below.

He fired. The blue bolt of energy struck the door and dispersed. He fired again. Nothing happened. He squeezed the trigger—again, nothing. Enraged, the Wraith whipped the zat against the wall, where it shattered uselessly. Then they stormed over to the machine in the center of the unusual room.

From what he could see, there were four large pods of some alien design standing vertically from four enormous sockets in the base of the device. They closely resembled the stasis pods back on Atlantis, but were somehow different…stranger. He couldn't think of a better word. But then, he was the psychological hostage of a deranged life-sucking alien. He wasn't feeling particularly linguistic right now.

They stiffly approached the first one of the pods, nearing the translucent blue glass that covered its face. There were several panels below it, decked out in crystals of several different eras. Large, clunky-looking ones that might be the Ancient equivalent of a floppy disk stood out everywhere, intermingling with the smaller, more familiar crystals. And through the lightly tinted glass…

…was Lorne.

He tried to be surprised, but it felt like a stale attempt being dumber than he actually was. His first thought when he'd seen the pods had been about a holding chamber of some sort. Joe had obviously integrated some Wraith technology into this monstrosity long ago—like a Wraith refrigerator. But why only Lorne? How much power did a Wraith culling beam need?

His hands flew over the pod's interface, running a diagnostic of the major's vital signs. Rodney felt both relieved and troubled to discover that Lorne was in perfect health. Not only that, but the major was also completely lucid. When he saw McKay, he began to pound on the inside of the glass, his mouth moving rapidly but without sound. The Wraith in Rodney's body didn't look at him for more than a second. It was unconcerned.

Rodney felt troubled over the fact that the Wraith was keeping Lorne as a captive, meaning it wanted him for something. Feeding, probably. And that meant it had a way to feed, and Rodney didn't feel like finding out what that was.

Apparently satisfied with the readout, Joe moved on to the next pod. The machine thrummed with power as they passed the center core—Rodney glimpsed the fading orange glow of a ZedPM from the corner of his stolen eye. So that explained the strange power fluctuations. Fat good it did him now, knowing that. In just a matter of minutes, the entire satellite would depressurize and he, along with everyone else on board, would die of asphyxiation.

He felt a trill of excitement from the Wraith. He never thought nanites could transmit emotions so accurately, but then…he never thought a Wraith could inhabit the computer of a colossal Ancient weapon, either. And he'd never thought he'd spend his thirty-fifth birthday trapped inside his own body, the captive of an alien predator.

So just as he thought his day couldn't get worse (almost certain pain and death hovering just moments away), karma decided to play its dice. His body turned to face the second pod.

And came face-to-face with another Wraith.

* * *

AN: It gets darker from here on. Ye be warned. 


	7. Failure

_**Rules of War**_

AN: Sorry. I really, really mean it this time. XD

* * *

"The men who try to do something and fail are infinitely better than those who try to do nothing and succeed." 

--Lloyd Jones

* * *

-

_Chapter Seven: Failure_

_-_

**3:14 pm, Ancient Satellite Stasis Chambers**

In a brilliant surge of panic, McKay somehow regained control.

He'd face the ironic charge later. Okay, _maybe_ he had the habit of overcoming even the worst odds when his own life was threatened, but suddenly realizing why this 'other' Wraith (albeit a _sleeping_ one, but still a Wraith) was in the stasis pod made him realize that the chances of Meredith Rodney McKay making it out alive were starting to look very slim indeed. Just in time for a reality check, he took advantage of Joe's distraction and _yanked_ the Rodney McKay Special Edition X-Box controller out of said Wraith's metaphorical hands…claws, things and mashed the buttons.

And what happened thus following this seizure was exactly what _usually_ happens when an individual suddenly starts pressing all the buttons on a game controller at once. His body went ballistic.

Okay, 'ballistic' might not have been the word for it. Painful, yes. It was very, _very_ painful, to make that perfectly clear. But the result made him fall back from the stasis pod's controls and slump onto the floor.

The floor was another experience. Imagine having someone clench five, strong fingers tightly around your wrist. Now imagine taking your one other hand and trying to pry away those fingers all at once. This was precisely what it felt like to regain control over his brain. As of now, McKay had the Wraith's 'fingers' pulled back as far as they could go, but his own grip was starting to slip. In a matter of seconds, Joe would clamp back down and retake complete control. And Joe would probably squeeze very, very hard.

Shaking with effort, McKay crawled back over to the control panel and used it to pull himself up so he draped on its metal surface for support. Faintly aware that blood was trickling from his nose in cool droplets onto the interface, he used a lethargic hand to open the system's command menu in the Ancient/Wraith hybrid computer. He punched in a series of difficult commands that took longer than the few seconds he'd anticipated, but was rewarded for his endeavor with the soft hiss of the machine performing the process he'd started.

He just hoped he hadn't activated Lorne's pod by mistake.

McKay saw the dormant Wraith's face at the same time he collapsed back onto the floor. It started to shrivel, and then sink in—and finally, it powered, sucked completely dry of life by the Wraith tech Joe had intended for his friends.

Inside his head, Joe with Wraith started to scream his livid hatred and bewilderment as his original body, so carefully preserved for so many hundreds of years, withered and died in just a few seconds.

_Ha,_ McKay thought, through the distant banging sound in his rapidly fading consciousness. _It worked. I actually fought him…and I won. I'm…amazing…_

Too late did he realize what his 'amazing' plan entailed. The Wraith wasn't going anywhere without his original body to return to. Joe was stuck permanently inside the greatest scientific mind in the whole of Pegasus Galaxy.

And he hadn't destroyed the life-sucking stasis pods.

In fact, he'd just made things worse by pissing off the Wraith and giving it another reason to kill his teammates. Again. He just couldn't stop making things worse, could he?

The glare of the blue lights seemed to intensify as the Wraith regained its composure and settled back into his head like a shadow. He could practically feel the millions of microscopic machines start to crawl their way through his arterial system again. Joe stood up with his legs, using his arms to balance himself on the control panel to the stasis pod. A cold, calculating anger emanated from the invisible alien's presence.

_You do not know what you have done, Brandelis,_ said Joe. _You also fail to realize how well I manipulate your body. And now, my former friend, I will demonstrate exactly what it is I plan to do with your friends…now that I must die along with you._

If McKay had still the power to do so, he would have cringed.

* * *

**3:19 pm, Ancient Satellite Sub-Level Corridors**

Bang. Bang. Bang. BANG.

"Alright, knock it off!" Sheppard roared over the sound of Ronon's fist hitting the locked hatch. "Now that the Wraith knows we're here, we can't take it by surprise, which I was kind of hoping since it doubt it knows we're able to track him with the LSD."

"I don't see you trying anything," the Satedan replied stoically. He raised a hand to strike the metal door again, but the colonel grabbed it before it moved.

"I think we've established that this doesn't work," he said, on the brim of losing his patience. "Since we used the last of the C4, _this_ way is blocked. Now, what would McKay do in our situation?"

"Complain," said Ronon without consideration.

"Or," growled Sheppard. "He'd find another way in. We split up: I go left and you go right. When we find another hatch, we'll signal each other."

"And if this is the only way in?"

"Then I'd say the Ancients really _suck_ at building emergency exits," came the reply. "Yell if you find anything." He turned to walk in the opposite direction, fuming in his mind. If losing McKay wasn't bad enough, now he had to lock horns with the one member of his team who wanted to solve everything by ripping right through it.

Not that he couldn't emphasize with him. Half of the time Rodney got himself into trouble, Ronon was there to be the one to pull him out. He and the big guy shared that particular duty, and this scenario was creating a rift in their friendship as they both had different ideas on how to proceed. On any other mission, it wouldn't be a serious problem. With the life of not only Rodney but also Teyla, Lorne and others on the line, they were butting heads over the smallest decisions.

Worse still, he had a feeling the creepy blue lights on the walls were somewhat responsible for it. They'd gone from senselessly shooting at empty shadows to eyeing each other's throats. If he got too distracted, he might even end up accidentally shooting Ronon, like McKay did to Teyla. And that was the _last_ thing they needed right now.

The light from his P90 swept over the ridged surfaces of the corridor as he traveled further along its length. Even though the blue lights emitted…well, light, their glow was kind of weird. It didn't show much in the darkness, other than reflecting intensely off of stronger metallic surfaces, sort of like what blacklights did to anything white. Staring directly into them was like staring into the sun for too long, minus the bright spots in his vision. It made his head feel as though it were on fire…

He tried to avoid looking straight at them.

Moving deeper into the blackness, he noticed with certain annoyance how much further away he was getting from Rodney's lifesign. The display on the small handheld device, strangely enough, showed two lifesigns where McKay should be. This either meant the Wraith was now acting solo, or there was something else alive up there with his teammate. Part of him hoped it was Lorne, but another part sort of wished it wasn't. Lorne didn't know about McKay's condition yet, so anything he might do…

Sheppard ignored the thought. Lorne wasn't stupid enough to think McKay would voluntarily turn against his teammates. They weren't exactly the best of friends, but Lorne's grudge against McKay was more superficial than it was personal.

He was surprised a moment later to feel a slight, cool breeze. He stopped for a moment, scanning the walls with his light. There were no vents or openings in the structure of the tube-like passageways. It felt like the draft was pulling him forward, further into the complex of tunnels.

There, he also noticed, was also a dim light much further down the line. The colonel broke off into a jog, the echoes of his footsteps ringing off of the metal floor with a terrifying symphony of hollow clangs. The tunnel carried him for another hundred feet or so, the illumination gradually getting stronger. Finally, he stepped into the chamber at the end, directing a skeptical expression at his sudden and almost scarily convenient find.

He turned to shout over his shoulder. "Ronon! I found something!"

"Another hatch?" came Ronon's faint voice from the long, darkened corridor.

Sheppard stared back towards the gaping hole in the ceiling, slack-jawed with disbelief. "Yeah," he breathed slowly. "Something like that."

* * *

**3:22 pm, Ancient Satellite Stasis Chambers**

_You and I once knew each other as equals, Brandelis._

Please, _please_ don't do this, McKay begged. He had to stop the Wraith somehow—get control over his body, distract it, anything! Why was he always the one who had to watch these things happen? The Wraith was just acting on pure, evil impulse now that it couldn't finish its grand scheme. Now it just wanted to make this guy Brandelis suffer. Only problem was—he _wasn't_ Brandelis!

_I will do what I must do justify the loss of my other life, brother_, the Wraith said as simply as though he were talking about fetching the morning newspaper. _The payment is open_. _One of your friend's lives for each of the ones you took to finish your revolting experiment._

Joe lifted his hands to the face of the controls just in front of Lorne's pod.

_Look, I'm sorry!_ McKay tried to reason. _My name isn't Brandelis, all right? It's McKay. Meredith Rodney McKay. We're peaceful explorers, all of us! Whatever happened to you in the past wasn't our fault! You have to believe that!_

He received no response from the Wraith that could manifest itself into words. But the nanites relayed its cold, unfeeling rejection of his plea. It was over. There was nothing he could do or say to prevent what would happen next.

The Wraith glared at the soldier's face through the tinted glass. All Lorne saw was McKay, looking uncharacteristically evil as he tapped the final command into the interface.

And then Rodney was forced to watch as Lorne slammed into the back of the pod, his mouth stretched open in a silent scream. His skin shrunk, and wrinkled, his body thinned and grew gnarled with age. Too slowly. The major aged and writhed as the grotesque Ancient-Wraith hybrid technology drained him of life.

The computer rattled a warning sound. Joe ignored it. Only a few moments later, Lorne went completely slack. The once lively soldier slouched lifelessly, the remnants of a frail, ancient man inside a glass chamber designed for death. Another sound beeped from the machine's interface, announcing the depletion of Lorne's life signature.

Inside his fleshy prison, McKay himself felt like dying.

He'd caused this.

He was responsible.

His will shriveled and died along with the major. The great Rodney McKay was reduced to a ghost inside his own faint awareness.

* * *

**3:30 pm, Ancient Satellite Big Gaping Hole**

"Whoa," Ronon voiced.

"My sentiments exactly," said Sheppard, stepping over a large chunk of debris to reach the center of the gaping hole. His head tilted upwards. "This is the sort of thing that makes writing our mission reports so damn annoying."

"I thought McKay getting captured by a Wraith was the annoying part."

"That too," the colonel agreed. He didn't feel like mentioning the other ten or fifteen major problems that were currently on his mind. "It looks like something exploded right above us, caving in the floor and blocking the tunnel." He searched the framework of the piled debris. After a moment, he admitted defeat. "I can't see a way to climb this thing."

"I see three," said the Satedan.

"Of _course_ you do." The colonel's voice was sarcastic.

Needing no order from the team leader to advance, Ronon leapt onto a large, collapsed beam and skillfully ran up its steeply sloped surface, pushed off and grabbed the edge of the charred ceiling (floor?) above. With a loud grunt, he swung his legs over the side and hauled himself onto the second level.

Sheppard stepped up to the gigantic, slanted beam and placed a hand on it, craning his head after the larger man. Ronon leaned over the edge of the hole and squatted down. "So, what are you waiting for?"

In response, the colonel grimaced derisively. "Just get me a damn rope."

They used a few precious minutes to find a suitable rope-like substitute to pull Sheppard onto the level above the complex. Once they were both inside the illuminated corridors above, John realized that the passageway he'd followed just minutes ago mimicked the wide hallway that stretched out towards the section with Rodney's signature. The walls were heavily damaged, and parts of the ceiling had caved in from repeated explosions, but nothing on the scale of the Jumper-sized hole behind them.

"Okay, we just went from eerily convenient to impossibly easy," Sheppard pointed out. "Notice how none of the doors are closed."

"So?"

"So, the Wraith left them open for us," the colonel explained tediously. "I'll even bet a week's worth of wages that it's planning to ambush us as soon as we take in the bait."

"An ambush." Ronon looked unimpressed, resting his gun on his shoulder in a posture that very clearly insinuated how he planned on dealing with the Wraith. "In McKay's body, with no weapons."

Sheppard considered this. All right, so the man had a point. Now was a really bad time to start feeling unmanly about his observations. "That is a very good point," he conceded. "Fine. We go in, but we don't shoot, understand? Not unless it's absolutely necess—"

"_Colonel Sheppard, do you hear me?"_

He almost jumped in surprise to hear a voice—even more surprisingly, _Teyla's_ voice—through his earpiece. "Teyla?" he questioned, activating the radio. "Is that you?"

"_Yes,_" said the Athosian with immense relief. "_It is good to hear from you, Colonel."_

"No kidding." He was now utterly confused. "What happened? How are you feeling?"

"_I am no longer in pain,"_ she said. Their connection fuzzed a little, but didn't cut out. "_The interference with our radio signals was lost only moments ago. I believe Dr. Fisher wishes to speak to you. He's discovered something very important."_

"Great. Finally, some good news." The radio was transferred, and the older scientist's gravelly voice came on the frequency.

"_Colonel_, _I'm pleased to inform you that I've managed to hack into a partial of the deleted database from these terminals. I'm sure you'll be interested to know what you're up against."_

"That would be just dandy," Sheppard agreed.

"_There's too much to go with right now. What you really need to know is that this Wraith can't be treated ordinarily. This entire facility was once a research vessel. A scientist named Sedlren Brandelis was studying a project called 'Immortality'."_

"Sounds pretty important," the colonel agreed hesitantly. "Give me the shortest lowdown you've got."

"_That's done easily enough, since I don't have the details anyway. The Wraith in Dr. McKay's body was captured specimen. Some of the logs indicate that Brandelis befriended him in order to keep control over his group of Wraith test subjects. Somehow, he found a way to use the Wraith to regenerate his aging body over the span of millennia. The logs also suggest that something catastrophic happened between Brandelis and his specimens that caused massive internal damage to the satellite. I don't know how, but one of the Wraith managed to survive while the others didn't. It's probably no longer sane, let alone aware of what happened to the station."_

Sheppard absorbed this new information with a slow, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "So what we're actually dealing with here is a deranged Wraith who not only wants to eats us all, but has a personal vendetta against Ancients, or anyone _like_ the Ancients."

"_Yes. That's pretty much it in a nutshell."_

"Wonderful. I wonder if McKay knows this," said John, staring down the long, abandoned corridor.

"Probably," Ronon said flatly.

"Thanks for the info, doc," the colonel spoke into his radio. "Do me a favor and keep looking after Teyla until we get back, all right? Ronon and I are going to see if we can still get McKay and Lorne out of this."

"_She's in good hands, Colonel. And by the way, you'll be delighted to know that I've sealed off some of the airlocks in the upper levels. That's at least another hour or so of oxygen for us."_

Better words could not have been spoken sooner. "Doc, when we get out of this, you're going to get a nicer lab."

"_I'm glad someone thinks so. Good luck, colonel."_

Sheppard switched off the radio and looked seriously at Ronon, who stared just as gravely back. "I think I just figured out how to rescue McKay."

* * *

TBC 

AN: Yes, Lorne fans can kill me. Go ahead. You know you want to.


	8. Powerplay

**_Rules of War_**

AN: I had to completely redesign this chapter when I realized that Sheppard said he had a 'plan' at the end of chapter seven. He didn't fill me in on this so-called 'plan', so now I'll have to redesign everything. Damn. But this whole story was pretty much built around the final scene of this chapter. Yep…

I got tired of my stupid anti-Canadian word processor underlining words like 'colour' and 'favourite', so I just gave in and started spelling them the American way. Color, favorite, valor, honor…poor, neglected letter 'U'…

* * *

"The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become." 

-- Charles Dubois

* * *

-

_Chapter Eight: Powerplay_

_-_

**3:35 pm, Atlantis Satellite Stasis Chambers**

Fact: the fastest human beings to have been recorded in previous times had achieved speeds varying from 8.013 meters per second, to 11.910 meters per second.

Fact: Rodney McKay was not one of them.

The first stage of Sheppard's plan was ruined already. Not that this brilliant, strategic concoction had anything to do with the words 'brilliant' and 'strategic'. He'd like to think so, but even with McKay's obvious lack of pessimistic comments, the idea of surrendering one's self to the examinations and/or 'special treatment' of a Wraith-infested scientist was bordering _his_ idea of insane.

Ronon didn't like it, either, which was always nice to know.

Combining the fact that McKay was not physically able to retreat to a distance effectively out-of-range of their LSD in the time allotted, and the surprisingly straightforward layout of this section of the station, there was no reason Sheppard's plan should have failed. But then, Plan A usually did knock back a few metaphorical beers before coming into play.

Plan A was hammered even before the party started.

Plan B involved a lot of brute force.

On the whole, they found Rodney missing. Since Sheppard's original plan actually _required_ McKay to be present at the time of the negotiation, there was now good reason to be skeptical.

And then there were the bluelights. Sheppard never did like the color blue. Everyone's favorite color was blue. And these lights were annoying before, but now they were unbearable.

The long corridor was clean and damage-free. It had obviously been designed at one time to seal off into sections. These sections weren't sealed off anymore. The cause could be justified for only one of two reasons. One: it was a trap. Or two: it was a trap and the power was out. Option two wasn't likely, because the lights were still on.

Regardless of everything his instincts, both military and non-professional told him, Sheppard led Ronon to the end of the passageway so quaintly bathed in an aquamarine glow. When they reached the chamber at the end, he held out an arm to stop his teammate from barging in. McKay or not McKay, he was betting this Wraith knew just _exactly_ how to sneak up on people.

"Rodney?" he said, cutting the silence with a cautious tone. "Buddy? It's just me. If you're here, come out so we can talk."

There was nothing, aside from the thrum of the weird-shaped machine in the center of the room. Slowly, he and Ronon sidestepped around the cluster of life-pods with their weapons drawn, circling until they could see how truly empty the room actually was.

Or so they thought.

"…Sheppard."

Ronon's voice was terribly quiet. The second of the pair to notice that these strange life-pods actually had _people_ in them, Sheppard turned to find the Satedan warrior's face flat and distraught. The hair on his neck prickled as he looked closely through the tinted glass of the nearest pod.

"That's a Wraith."

Ronon regarded him aloofly. "Yeah."

"A dead Wraith?"

The Satedan stepped up to the glass and tapped his knuckles against it a few times. "Seems like it."

"Our Wraith?"

"Probably." Ronon turned away from the shriveled corpse of the alien and started to circle the group of life pods. His passive expression darkened as he rounded on the pod facing directly away from the dead Wraith. "Sheppard. You should see this."

John felt nauseous as he approached. The Wraith-in-a-bottle was disturbing enough, but he now half-expected to find McKay in the second life pod, in a similar if not identical state of decay. He joined his team member in front of the second chamber and observed the object in question.

What he found was not McKay. Of this he was certain…but that uniform, the vaguely familiar shaped of the face under waves upon waves of wrinkles and hollowed, discolored skin—it dawned on him that this other corpse belonged to another of their missing persons. "Lorne?"

Ronon stared grimly. "Is he dead?"

Unsure of this himself, Sheppard glanced down at the panel in front of the machine. The screen was flashing a red warning signal, but he was terrible at the Ancient language and bad at Wraith, too. He recognized one of the symbols from before—one that he was pretty sure meant 'death' or 'deceased'. Suddenly, he didn't feel so great.

Lorne being Lorne, however, defied the questionable logic of science.

"Did he just move?" Sheppard asked hesitantly.

Lorne's ancient, elderly head jerked upward slightly. His eyes creased open slightly and he seemed, for a moment, to try to lift a hand to the glass. Being so incredibly weak, he failed at this attempt.

"He's alive," the colonel said. "Jesus…Ronon, we got to get him out of there."

"Move," said the Satedan. Sheppard leapt out of the way just in time—before he could so much as protest, Ronon fired his blaster at the latch of the pod. It burst open.

"Would you…_stop_ shooting things without checking with me first?" Sheppard asked angrily, rounding on Ronon with a level of frustration mounting to the extreme.

"Sorry. Do I have your permission to shoot the life-draining Wraith device?" said Ronon flatly.

"Don't be cocky. That's…annoying," the colonel lectured mildly. Reaching out, he grasped the slightly heated surface of the glass pod and gently pulled. Ronon joined him in removing the front of the container. No sooner was that done than Lorne practically pitched himself forward. Sheppard barely just caught him before he broke on the floor.

"Whoa, easy, easy," he said with as much compassion as could be mustered in this situation. He gently steadied the frail major on his feet. Lorne's uniform hung from his skeletal frame like a curtain, his face so aged and tired that Sheppard found it extremely hard to look at him straight without wincing.

"H…how bad…" Lorne rasped. He coughed, his chest wheezing with the effort to draw in precious air.

Sheppard smiled. However convincing it was, it must have been terrible, because the major barely glanced at him once before panting a short laugh and averting his eyes. "That…bad…huh?"

"Major, did…did _McKay_ do this?" Sheppard asked, carefully aiding old man to the floor. The major leaned up against the very machine that had taken his life, breathing heavily. "Lorne, stay with me. Which way did he go?"

Mouth open, trembling slightly, the major lifted a gnarled finger to point in the direction from whence they came.

"And how long ago was that?"

Lorne reclined his head, eyes drooping.

"Major!" Sheppard said stridently. He hated losing his men. He hated watching them die of old age well into the prime of their life. Major Lorne was a good, solid soldier who was a son, an older brother and an artist. This was definitely not Lorne's time to die.

Ronon crouched down to the unmoving major and checked his pulse. "He's sleeping," he announced, to the colonel's relief. "He might not make it."

"I know," Sheppard replied, shorter than he'd meant to be. "Just one more reason I have to find Rodney. He might…" He sighed, knowing he was just making excuses to find his missing teammate. "He might be able to reverse this. Stay here, make sure Lorne stays alive. I'm going after McKay."

"But—

"Stay here, look after Lorne, and wait for my signal," the colonel repeated sternly. "If something happens, I'll radio you for help. Is that understood?"

Ronon looked at him stoically. "Yeah."

"Good. We're cle—

"_Colonel Sheppard?"_

Teyla again. This was the second time she'd interrupted him while he was lecturing Ronon. This time, however, she didn't sound nearly as tired and there was a hint of relief behind her voice. Sheppard switched his radio. "Teyla, how's it going down there?"

"_It is…going well, Colonel,_" said the Athosian with a brush of weary amusement. "_Dr. Weir has just contacted us. She wishes to know if you require the assistance of the Daedalus."_

"What?" Sheppard threw Ronon a questioning look, and was greeted by a shrug. "Why can't she just radio and ask me herself?"

"_Dr. Fisher believes the section of the satellite where you are located is still shielded. Dr. Weir's radio cannot penetrate the shield. My radio is located inside the satellite, and therefore I am able to relay her messages."_

An explanation worthy of Rodney McKay. It made Sheppard uncomfortable knowing that Weir and the resources were _right_ there, but he couldn't reach them. "Tell Elizabeth that our situation just went from bad to worse. Tell her to tell _Caldwell_ to get his butt over here and beam us out!"

There was a pause, in which he _swore_ he could hear McKay's sarcastic voice in the back of his head telling him a thousand different reasons why the beaming technology wouldn't work.

Teyla came back on a moment later. "_Dr. Fisher says that the shield will also prevent the Asgard beam from penetrating the hull of the satellite."_

"Of course it will." The colonel took a second to think. "So plans A and B didn't work. Any ideas for a plan C?"

"_Actually, I may have an answer to that solution,_" came Dr. Fisher's gravelly voice.

"Doc? You have a radio."

"_Lieutenant Padley was nice enough to lend me his for the time being, Colonel,"_ said the scientist, chuckling with his raspy voice. "Young man, o_ur time is running short, so I'l try to be brief. Now, I've done some more research and I'm quite convinced that our Dr. McKay problem is based around these bluelights we're finding everywhere."_

"Yeah. I've noticed those," said Sheppard, glancing up at the dozens of rows of lights on the walls and ceilings.

"_Yes, they are…more than what they seem, you see. They are being used to broadcast very delicate messages in a form of unidentifiable energy used to pierce organic material."_

"A control device. I could have guessed that much, doc. What else?" Sheppard asked, trying his best to not sound patronizing.

"_Yes, a control device. I can't very well tap into the system and _ask _these microscopic energy signatures what their purpose is. I can only speculate they're designed to act like the same type of electric pulses that control the neurons in our bodies. They would, however, have a much more significant impact on nanites."_

"You know, I must be hanging out with McKay a little too much, because I'm pretty sure what you just told me is that Rodney has nanites in his blood, and Wraith is using the bluelights to control them." Sheppard knew those late-night cafeteria raids and philosophical debates with McKay would come back to bite him in the ass one day.

"_You're right, Colonel. Dr. McKay's influence must be more formidable than we give him credit for."_

"Right. The last thing Rodney needs is more credit," the colonel said. "Am I to correctly assume that the Wraith won't be able to control McKay anymore if I somehow get these lights to turn off?"

"_Yes, assuming the Wraith's consciousness is still in the satellite's core system. Allow me to break the cliché and suggest shooting the lights out rather than taking the time to shut them off?"_

"Can't. Tried. They're bulletproof." Behind him, Ronon grunted in an abused way. "Oh yeah, and they're also blaster-proof. Here's just assuming that they're every other kind of proof we can think of."

"_Ah._" There was another pause. "_Then I can only suggest one other thing. Cut the power._"

Sheppard sighed. "You might have give me more than that, doc."

"_Colonel, might I point out that either you're standing next to a nearly depleted ZPM, or I'm being fed false scans of the upper levels of this station. In which case, none of the information I just told you would be credible.."_

Furling his brow, Sheppard slowly turned to in fact, find himself washed in the orange glow of an ancient battery. He wasn't McKay—he didn't notice these things right away. But there was a ZPM, and the more he talked to this Fisher guy, the more useless he felt. He was even starting to make McKay seems incompetent.

"_I'll assume your silence suggests you've found the power source."_

"You can say that," said Sheppard. He and Ronon exchanged looks.

"_Once you disconnect the ZPM, your section of the station should revert to an emergency backup. If those blue lights are somehow connected to the reserves, Colonel, I'm afraid we're for a loss."_

"Yeah, well…" said the colonel distractedly. He cautiously reached towards the ZPM with his free hand. "Here's hoping."

Mimicking what he'd only seen Rodney do a dozen times before, Sheppard pressed the release control on the flat disc beside the glowing object. The device rose a few inches, automatically spinning about thirty degrees before unlocking and coming free. Gingerly, he gathered the ZPM in both hands and lifted it out from its socket.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Rather than having everything blink out at once, the life pod machine seemed to power down, thrumming as the reserve power kicked in. The main lights overhead dimmed, then faded out completely. Red (red!) emergency lights flickered on. Combined with the sickeningly still-active blue lights, they washed the control room in a purple aura. A sense of dread started to fill the pit of his stomach…

_Whaaauum._ The bluelight nearest to them died. Three more followed. Then, as a procession, the remaining lights burnt out until the only remaining glow emanated from the emergency lanterns. Ronon and Sheppard were left in a dark, red-washed room looking at each other with matching, skeptical expressions.

"_Colonel, are you there still?"_

Snapping out of his thoughts, the colonel hit his radio. "Yeah…yeah, we're still here. You were right…the lights went out."

"_All of them?"_

Sheppard scanned the room, and leaned over to peer down the long corridor on the other side of the machine. "Pretty sure that's all of them. Either way, I'm about to find out."

"_Sounds dangerous. Glad it's you and not me up there. That's about all I can help you with."_

"Yeah, thanks." Sheppard spoke distractedly. His mind was still wrapped around what he might find when he caught up with McKay. "Keep in touch, doc. Radio me the moment the Daedalus arrives, will you?"

"_Will do. Good luck, Colonel."_

The colonel switched off his radio and addressed Ronon, who looked about ready to pull a Chewbacca on him. "If you see McKay, ask questions _first_, and _then_ shoot. I'd rather not have to hear him complain for the next three weeks about how often I let you stun him."

"Is this one of those orders I have to follow no matter what happens?" the Satedan asked passively.

Sheppard paused to shrug the strap of his P90 over his shoulder and hand the weapon over to his teammate. "This is definitely one of those. Keep an eye on this—I'd rather not spook the hell out of Rodney before I get a chance to talk to him. And give me your sidearm. I left my other rounds with the doctors downstairs."

"Fine." Ronon took the gun from him and handed over his barely-ever-used sidearml, which the group leader tucked into a strap on the back of his jacket. The colonel turned to leave. "Sheppard?"

He stopped in mid-stride, having started to jog off towards the dimly lit corridor. "Yeah?"

"Don't be stupid."

In response, Sheppard nodded his head slightly, looking visibly unsure of himself. He was almost sure Ronon meant 'don't be fooled by the Wraith', but the deeper, more concerned look behind his teammate's eyes gave him the impression it meant more. Don't get hurt, maybe. Or don't get ambushed.

Don't kill McKay.

Yeah. Yeah, that was it.

* * *

- 

**3:49 pm, Ancient Satellite Unknown**

It was surprisingly easier to find McKay than he'd expected. First of all, Sheppard didn't have to go far before he ran into a dead end. The bluelights were out everywhere, giving him a clear head and a better sense of direction. With his sidearm drawn, and his senses on full alert, it was only a matter of time before he ran across Rodney—the one man he knew who was as stealthy as a lame goat with a nervous compulsion disorder.

After everything that had happened to him, he wasn't surprised to find his answer man sitting on his ass in the middle of the floor, with his face buried in his hands in evident dejection.

Still.

"Rodney…?" Sheppard inched forward, keeping the 9-mil trained on the potential threat. "Buddy, speak to me…let me know that's you, so I can put down the gun and we can talk."

God. McKay was trembling and sweating an insane amount, in spite of the chilled atmosphere of the enclosed room. His face streaked with blood, his hair matted, his hands sticky and red…he'd taken off his shoes, probably because of the pain. It looked like he'd just given up and slumped to the floor, either too tired or to miserable to go anywhere anymore.

When he looked up, Sheppard wasn't sure what he saw in his eyes. It was like looking into a well, and knowing someone was down there. But the well was too deep to reach into. The trapped man inside couldn't hear him. And he was probably scared to death, half-dead and nearly insane.

"Sh…sh…Sheppard?" McKay said, pulling his arms against himself like a cornered animal, shielding his face and shaking uncontrollably. "It's…you…isn't it?"

"It's me," the colonel said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Look, it's over now, buddy. The Wraith can't control you anymore. Not only that, but the Daedalus is here, and we're all going back to Atlantis."

"Atlantis…" The astrophysicist whispered the word as though trying to remember something.

Sheppard slowly approached his teammate, still wielding the sidearm. He lowered one of his hands from the gun to pull something from a vest pocket—an apple PowerBar—and held it up for McKay to see. He was willing to bet that, especially with the loss of blood, Rodney was feeling pretty hypoglycemic.

"Now, I've got…three more of these on me right now," he told the shivering man. "And I'll bet Ronon has a few stashed away somewhere. We're gonna fix you up, and bring you home to Atlantis so Beckett can look you over. Sound good?"

But McKay was eyeing the wrapped food like it had grown fur and was snarling at him. "Go away…leave…just leave…"

The colonel, sensing a major breakdown, edged even closer to the scientist without thinking. This was a big mistake.

Everything about Rodney changed. With reflexes that weren't even _human_, he lashed out at Sheppard and wrenched the gun from his hand. It discharged once, but the round flew wild. Less than half a second later, the scientist was scrambling to his feet, pointing the weapon in the colonel's face.

"Pathetic," spat not-Rodney. His face, despite being smeared with blood, was suddenly very strict and collected. Like a Wraiths'. "You let your guard down, Sheppard. Worse still, you were enough of a fool to think you had me defeated."

"I was pretty convinced," the colonel admitted dryly.

The Wraith smirked, and abruptly jerked the gun to one side, opening fire. Hot pain lanced through Sheppard's arm and he shouted briefly in surprise.

"You have no idea how satisfying that was, after all the horrors I have endured at the hands of your breed," the Wraith inside McKay's body said smoothly.

Still grimacing and clutching at the area above his wound in a makeshift attempt to slow the blood flow, the colonel staggered back to his feet and lifted his head. "I really…don't care…how you feel, _Wraith_. Either you…leave McKay right now, or I give the order to blow this place out of orbit."

McKay/Wraith snorted, stepping towards wounded colonel with terrible arrogance. "And empty threat, I'm sure. Just to be clear, I do not _care_ what happens to Brandelis or your piteous crew. My body is dead. I severed my link with the satellite's computer system just before my death…I exist only as you see me now. A colony of nanites attached to the back of a disgusting, human brain."

"Must bite," Sheppard commented. "I'm sure a few seizures ago you also realized that you can't stay inside McKay's body much longer without killing him."

"It did occur to me," said the Wraith. "But my use for his body is sadly near its end. I will rest peacefully with my brethren with the knowledge that I have found justice."

Not-Rodney shuffled his fingers. The gun clicked, and he raised the barrel to Sheppard's head. "Goodbye, friend of Brandelis."

Two thoughts flashed through his mind. First, he thought about his second firearm. It was still strapped to his back. And then, a second thought occurred shortly after—why wasn't he dead yet? It took less than 0.25 seconds to pull a trigger, and another third of a second for the bullet to reach his brain. But it didn't.

Instead, he watched as the barrel of the pistol began to quake. A look of painful, forced concentration seized McKay's face. Slowly, in small jerks, Rodney's arm started bending, pulling back the gun towards himself. The metal tip shoved under his jaw, buried against his neck.

Sheppard's insides froze. "McKay…" he warned, realizing what Rodney intended to do. "Rodney, don't be stupid…"

"_Sheppard?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Don't be stupid."_

"Rodney!" he bellowed.

The room echoed with the sound of the shot.

* * *

TBC

AN: Think what you want, but I love cliffhangers.


	9. Risk

**_Rules of War_**

AN: No one likes cliffies? I'm astounded. I hope you like dark plot twists. Now, brought to you by tons of appreciated feedback and a day's worth of sulking on the account of yours truly…here is the ninth chapter.

It's short. I'm sorry. Next chapter holds a lot of the action.

* * *

"As I was walking up the stair,  
I met a man who wasn't there.  
He wasn't there again today.  
I wish, I wish he'd go away." 

-- Hugh Mearns

* * *

- 

_Chapter Nine: Risk_

-

**4:00 pm, Ancient Satellite Unknown**

The shot, muffled by flesh and yet still so loud, pounded into Sheppard's ears like booming war drums. Every rule in the book went out the window. And with them went the book itself.

The hand that fired the round slackened. Freed of its prison, the pistol slid loose and clattered to the floor unobserved. Shocked, bewildered silence made a symphony in the time that passed before time finally sped up. McKay stared blankly at the wall behind the colonel. Effortless staring into something only seen by those who truly expected to see nothing else.

In that window before time relapsed, Sheppard witnessed in shock as McKay slowly fell, arcing backwards. His body landed heavily and did not move.

The colonel gazed on, too stunned to move or even think. He'd just witnessed Rodney fire a bullet into his own brain. He'd just seen McKay die. Rodney was dead. It played over and over again in his mind. The image burned into the back of his eyelids.

Training made a desperate attempt to take him over. He lurched forward, half-stumbling toward the body until he knelt beside his best friend. Yet nothing but a desolate emptiness filled him. No melancholy, no anger. Not yet. Just honest disbelief.

The radio hissed in his ear and Ronon's voice asked, "_Sheppard, what just happened?"_

Dazed, the colonel tapped his earpiece. "McKay's…" The word 'dead' stuck to the inside of his throat. His eyes watched the wound in Rodney's jaw seep blood. "I found McKay."

"_I heard a shot. Are you injured?"_

"No," he lied, barely able to believe Rodney's insane luck. "I'm fine. Ronon, McKay's the one got shot."

There was a pause on the other end, and then, "_Where?"_

"In the head," the colonel said with a comforting weakness that made his body feel like lead. Before he let Ronon assume the worse, he went on. "He's still alive. I don't understand how, but for now…he's alive."

Another, longer pause that felt almost dramatic to the colonel. "_I'm coming there. Make sure he stays alive."_

McKay breathed. Wide-eyed, staring into open space…all the effects of being dead, but still functioning—physically, at least. Sheppard wasn't an expert of gunshot wounds, but looking at this one, he could only guess that the bullet passed through flesh and cartilage, but at such an angle that it missed his brain entirely. He didn't know about the jaw, but part of Rodney's skull was no doubt damaged. Taking a cautious breath, he gently felt the back of the unresponsive physicist's head for an exit wound, and found none. The round had lodged somewhere.

He heard footsteps hammer behind him. Ronon was abruptly crouching down across from him, unhooking the P90 from around his neck and tossing it aside. "How bad is it?"

Sheppard was already fishing the single emergency bandage from a pocket and unraveling it with both hands. "It's hard to say," he said, voice rough and disjointed. He pressed gauze against the bullet wound tightly. With the much blood, it was hard to tell if the round had missed the main artery or not. Even it was just nicked… "He's not responding, and the bleeding's pretty bad…"

"Did you do this?" the Satedan wanted to know. It wasn't an accusation, but there was a trace of reproach behind his tone.

"No. Of course not." Sheppard couldn't help but growl the response. It was bad enough this happened, but Ronon wasn't helping matter by acting suspicious...again. "The Wraith had me…at an advantage. Rodney must've somehow gained control at the last minute and…God, McKay, what were you thinking?"

As if reacting to the question, McKay suddenly started blinking and wheezing, struggling to lift his head and groping for something to grasp onto with a madly swaying arm. Sheppard grabbed his sleeve and carefully kept the scientist pinned down with his free hand. "Hey, hey, take it easy, Rodney. It's just us."

"Major…Lorne," McKay panted. Without warning, his rigid movements went limp and he moaned softly. "I killed him…oh, God…he's dead…"

"Lorne's fine, Rodney," Sheppard told him with a touch of impatience. His teammate wouldn't make eye contact, though he had a feeling it had something to do with the disorientation that usually follows after being shot in the head. "Personally, I'm a little more worried about the fact that you just shot yourself, so why don't you just calm down and let Ronon and I take care of you, all right?"

McKay just gazed into space, his lips moving sluggishly. "What, I…_shot_ myself?"

Sheppard stopped wrapping the bandage around the gauze and looked down at the scientist. "You don't remember?"

"No, I…" For a moment, it almost appeared as though he were trying to look past the colonel at something else. Then his eyes slowly rolled back in his head and he promptly fainted.

"Great." Sheppard finished the dressing and still didn't like how much blood was soaking through the gauze. McKay had lost enough bleeding from the orifices earlier today, now he was leaking from the neck, too. Beckett was going to go either bald or gray by the time he was finished patching him up.

He took this time to trigger his radio. "Teyla, are you still there?"

Her voice, thankfully, came on the channel. "_Colonel, how are you managing?"_

"Actually, we're not," he said wearily. "McKay's in very bad shape. Please tell me someone down there has figured out how to shut off this damn shield."

The Athosian took a moment to answer, whether it was to reflect on the news about Rodney, or to ask Dr. Fisher that very question. When she replied, she sounded a bit uncertain, as though she couldn't tell if Sheppard was joking or not. "_I'm…afraid not, Colonel. And still I have just been informed of something much worse."_

"Oh, really? What's wrong _now_?"

"_A Wraith Hive ship has been detected nearby. I am told that it will reach this place within the hour. Colonel Caldwell is confident that the Daedalus will be able to destroy it once it arrives, however he is not certain that he can prevent it from opening fire on the satellite."_

At this point, Ronon was staring at Sheppard's blood-soaked arm. "You're hurt," he pointed out.

"It's not that bad," he retorted, lying through his teeth. It hurt like hell and he could actually _feel_ the bullet scraping bone whenever his moved his arm. But he'd take three injured arms over a headshot wound any day. McKay was priority one, and he knew Ronon wouldn't argue.

Instead, Ronon looked at him. "What do we do?"

The colonel sighed. "There's no way we're getting McKay out of here the same way we came. We have no idea how much damage that bullet can do if he's moved too much." A thought suddenly crossed his mind. He touched his radio. "Fisher, you still there?"

A pause. "_Still here, Colonel."_

"Doc, I'm not an expert on this kind of stuff, but didn't we already shut down the power to this part of the station? Wouldn't that kill the shield?"

"_I'd say the answer to that is obvious. The shield must be powered by a secondary power source somewhere in another section of the ship."_

"I don't suppose you're about to make my day a lot easier and just tell me where that is?"

"_I'm afraid it isn't accessible from your position, Colonel. I happen to have a theory, though."_

Staring at the deathly pale face of a fallen comrade, the small rush of humor that the colonel then felt was empty and pointless. "Trying to win a Nobel Prize, doc?"

"_Nah…I'd, uh…settle with a promotion,_" said the gravelly voice. "_Thing is,_ y_ou're gonna have to move Dr. McKay back into the room with the ZPM."_

"Moving could kill him, doc," Sheppard warned him, rejecting the idea without much thought.

"_Yeah, and staying there will get him killed anyway," _Fisher pointed out with an edge of stubbornness. "_Got any better plans?"_

Sheppard ignored that. He now hated plans as much as he hated rules. Hell, this was like battling an army you couldn't see with weapons that didn't work. The first rule in war was: never trust your own plans. They always fail. So if he had to pass the reins onto someone else (which he usually did when it came to things that didn't involve shooting), he'd usually turn to McKay. But that option was out, and Fisher seemed like a pretty resourceful guy.

And he was _really_ getting tired of swinging the big stick at the invisible enemy.

"If we do this, and he dies," he said to Fisher, focused on McKay. "I'm gonna hold you responsible if this plan doesn't work."

"_Wouldn't expect any less, young man. Now listen up—we don't have a lot of time. That chamber where you found the ZPM is part of a section that detaches itself in the event of an emergency. Use the computer to run the safety breach protocol under its primary conservative status inventory. The chamber will seal itself and launch right into open space, hence separating you from the shield and allowing the Daedalus to beam you all out."_

Sheppard's plans failed. His tolerance for the canons of life was absolute. But his senses were sharp and he started to wonder just how Fisher was receiving all this info. And suspecting that maybe…just maybe, he knew more.

But McKay was dying right under his hand right now, and the miraculous genius of the other scientist would be something he could investigate later.

"I'll see what we can do," he said at last. "Once inside, I'm gonna need detailed instructions on how to work the controls, all right?"

_"As long as you get moving right now. I said, there's—"_

"Not much time, I know. Sheppard out." The colonel waved Ronon over, reluctantly releasing his hold on Rodney's neck to let the Satedan hook his arms under the scientist's shoulders and legs. "Careful," the colonel told him. "Keep his head up so that the blood flows away from the wound."

"Got it," Ronon agreed, carefully hefting McKay's dead weight off the floor with a short grunt. Thankfully, McKay didn't reawaken to find himself being carried across the room like a limp rag doll. Ronon was able to gracelessly haggle the scientist towards the corridor that branched off from the half-ruined one, which would eventually take them to the stasis room.

Sheppard's arm felt like it was roasting. Sharp pain laced through his muscles every time he took a step, making the short trip for him a living hell every inch of the way. He'd sacrificed his only bandage on McKay, so he didn't have anything immediate to tie off the flow of blood from the wound, but it wasn't exactly spouting a fountain, so the artery in his upper arm was probably okay. Just as long as he took care of it in the next ten minutes or so, he might not even feel drained by the blood loss.

Lorne was reclining in the exact place they left him, out cold. While Ronon carefully set Rodney on the ground and propped him against the wall, Sheppard checked the major's pulse. It was definitely weaker than the last time he'd checked. Unless they got him on a machine, he'd probably die much sooner than McKay.

From the floor, McKay made a reviving sound, but hardly batted an eye in consciousness. Yeah. Rodney was definitely not surviving this without professional help.

Sheppard stood, glancing over the numerous panels and displays that made up the interior of the room. He counted…nine different stations, four life pods and one very old, very dead Wraith. To someone else, someone like _McKay_ for example, the random selection of consoles might make sense. But to John, the military mind of the group, they might as well have been made of Lego.

So, just as one might suspect, he chose one of the panels at random and stood over it, trying to recognize the Ancient symbols and getting only a small fraction. Not enough to make any sense of the computer's function.

He tapped his radio, deciding now was the best time to consult an expert. "Fisher, this is Sheppard. I need help figuring out these damn symbols."

Silence.

He hadn't been expecting that. Not ten minutes ago, the radios were working perfectly fine. And as far as he could tell, the power wasn't on fully. Three of the consoles in the room were offline, and the warning lights still bathed the room, making it feel uncomfortably warm from where he was standing.

"Fisher," he tried again. "Doc, where are you?"

There came a slight fuzz of static, but nothing more. Uneasily, the colonel glanced over to Ronon, who shrugged, and then back to the surface of the computer interface.

Triggering the radio again, he said, "Teyla, can you hear me?"

"_Yes, Colonel."_

Every time he heard her voice, it was a relief. This time in particular, since he'd obviously somehow lost his other contact. "I don't supposed Dr. Fisher is there with you, is he?"

"_I am sorry. Who?_"

"Fisher," said Sheppard, a little bluntly than was needed. "Dr. Fisher, the old crank you've been sharing the same room with for about six hours. That guy."

Hence he experienced one of those lengthy pauses where he felt like the brunt of someone's favorite joke. After a few more seconds of baffled silence, Teyla spoke again.

"_Colonel, you must be mistaken," _she said cautiously. "_Lieutenant Padley and I have been on our own since you left. Perhaps you are confused with either Drs. Yolane or Golding_?

Sheppard could only stare at the screen of the console in front of him, not sure if this was Teyla's idea of a joke or not. "Teyla, you lent him your radio less than an hour ago."

The Athosian sighed audibly over the link. "_John, are you all right?"_

Honestly, he wasn't so sure he was anymore.

* * *

TBC 

AN: Is it just me, or does Ronon end up carrying Rodney around like a little girl in all of my stories?


	10. Science

**_Rules of War _**

AN: Did I take too long? Man, it's been forever. I know I promised action…well, more than what I'm going to give you. Instead, here's a chapter full of answers.

As a side note, I ask of you to please read the chapter thoroughly if you are even slightly confused. The answers you seek are there, young padawans. -bows-

* * *

"Why do we kill people who are killing people to show that killing people is wrong?" 

--Holly Near

* * *

_-_

_Chapter Ten: Science _

-

**4:47 pm, Ancient Satellite Stasis Chambers **

_"Ten years of dedicated service to the George Houster energy fusion program, and outstanding record of success in the field of advanced…" _

"McKay."

_"I'm proud to present one of my accomplished colleagues and former student of mine, Dr. Rodney—_"

"McKay!"

The stadium vanished. The audience vanished. Even the colors faded to the normal grays, blacks and red of the dimly glowing chamber. Reality replaced rational dreaming, where he'd only just started feeling better about himself, just only started to believe that everything had gone back to normal. But all that vanished, with Lorne's voice and an icy hand on his damp forehead.

"What…" he croaked, cracking open an eye. "Oh, God…"

Pain.

"Chances are you'll be hurting for a while," he heard Lorne's surprisingly alive voice tell him. "But you need to stay still, or you'll open the scab. Understand?"

"Where's…" The effort took a single breath and more. "You're…you're supposed to be dead," he finished, not even completing his first thought, which was to ask about Sheppard.

"Yeah, I'm still figuring that out myself," Lorne replied. His face gradually became clearer, hovering above Rodney with an empathetic twinge that Rodney found hard to process. He'd _killed_ Lorne. The machine had established the major was dead. He'd watched him shrivel up and collapse inside the life pod!

"I woke up in one of these machines," the major went on, meticulously peeling away the bandage around McKay's neck. "One minute, I'm dying, the next…let's just say I'll never take my youth for granted ever again."

"Sheppard," panted McKay. "Where's Sheppard and Ronon?"

Lorne paused, staring at the blood-soaked cloth in his hands. "I have no idea," he said. "I was sort of hoping you knew. Any idea what happened to you?"

Oh, well, that was easy to explain. Rodney screwed his eyes shut tightly, fighting back the overwhelming urge to throw up. Actually, that had been his next question. The details were a little fuzzy right now…but he was sure he'd almost shot Sheppard. No, make that…he _had_ shot Sheppard. Then he shot himself. Oh, right. That.

"You don't want to know," he said, rolling his head slightly. "Just that…it wasn't me. I didn't try to kill you…it was the Wraith, I swear."

Wait a minute.

"What," he said, dazed. "The Wraith, it…it's gone." A feebly laugh escaped him. "I can't believe it…I did it. I defeated the Wraith!"

"Hey, hey," Lorne snapped, putting a hand on the scientist's shoulder to keep him still. "Calm down. You'll kill yourself."

McKay winced. He shouldn't have to put it like that.

The major said nothing as he finished redressing the faintly bleeding wound on the physicist's neck. Meanwhile, Rodney continued to stare at the ceiling in revelation of his sudden, and mysterious freedom. And really, he'd feel much better if Sheppard and Ronon weren't missing. And on top of everything else miserable that had happened to him today, he had to live with the fact that it was his birthday. Why wouldn't anyone believe him when he said it his birthdays were always a bad thing?

"I tried radioing Colonel Sheppard, but there's no response," said Lorne at last. "No response from either Lieutenant Padley or Teyla, either. I don't suppose you might know anything about that."

"Look," Rodney said. "I was just shot in the head with a bullet. I am in…a _lot_ of pain right now. So I would really appreciate it if I could just _think_ without being interrupted."

"I could save you the trouble," the not-so-gentle reply came. "There's no way out of this place. Two exits, both locked, and some genius—not mentioning any names—cut the power. Somehow, I seriously doubt your sunscreen is going to get us out of here."

McKay groaned, clenching his jaw. "Very…funny."

Realizing he was making fun at the expense of a critically injured patient, the major twisted his face apologetically. "Sorry. Guess I need to work on my bedside manner."

He offered him a drink of water from the spent canteen, which McKay took gratefully. It was incredibly cold and quiet. His jacket did very little to insulate him, especially in his condition, and the silence cut through his nerves like a hot knife through wax. And through it all, a single question buzzed through his mind like a steady drone:

Where was Sheppard?

* * *

- 

**4:45 pm, Unknown**

The first thing he heard was Ronon, groaning.

It was a clear indication that something wrong had happened. When the biggest, toughest, scariest guy on your team sounds that helpless, it's time to start planning again. Such as it was inside Sheppard's mind as he regained consciousness. Before he cracked open an eye, he had the groundwork for plans C through G all laid out.

But the tiny workers in his brain came to a freezing halt when he realized where he was. It wasn't a far stretch from Kansas, but it wasn't the last place he remembered, either.

He was in the front section of a Puddlejumper, with his hands bound behind his back. Ronon was shouldering him, still in the process of regaining consciousness. Hence the groaning.

And sitting at the helm, not one meter away, was Dr. Fisher.

"Hey," he remembered saying out loud. The guttural sound to his voice might explain why his head hurt so badly. Or vice versa. "Doc, you mind telling me what you're doing…?"

It wasn't the most heroic thing to say. But damn, it felt like someone had used his head for a game of croquet.

Fisher, surprisingly calm for a man in his nice-guy-turned-captor position, turned away from piloting the ship to face him. "Colonel, it's nice to see you're finally awake. Don't be alarmed. I'm just making sure we're well out of range of the satellite before the Wraith destroy it."

The colonel groggily lifted his head, shifting his shoulders a little so that he could sit upright. Beside him, Ronon stopped moving. Without even glancing at him, John knew that the Satedan was fully awake and listening to the exchange. But leave it to the big guy to use even the smallest of advantages against an obvious opponent.

"Okay, I'll bite," Sheppard said, blinking his eyes slowly. The light inside the jumper was turned up a little brighter than usual. "Who are you, and what did you do to the others?"

The old scientist cocked his head to one side indifferently. "By the others, I assume you mean Drs. Golding and Yolane. And that lovely young woman…Teyla, was her name? The handsome, naïve Lieutenant Padley and the ever-so-charming Major Lorne? You certainly have many friends, Colonel."

"I'm a popular guy," Sheppard put bluntly. "Just answer the damn question. And while you at it, care to explain how the hell we got here?"

"I could, but then I'd have to kill you," Fisher replied simply. "On one hand, most of your friends are safe aboard the Daedalus. On the other, there wasn't enough time."

"There wasn't time for what?"

"To save them all," Fisher replied, as though surprised the colonel wasn't aware of the situation. "I might have, if you had simply taken my advice and left while you still had the chance."

"What advice? What the _hell_ is this?" the colonel demanded through his teeth. He was _really_ starting to hate this guy. Whoever he was. He couldn't remember a damn thing about him. Even though he remembered_ remembering_ this guy from some part of Atlantis, he kept running into blank spots whenever he thought about where it was he first met Fisher. But before his conversations with the guy over the radio, he couldn't think of a single mention of Dr. Fisher's name.

He loved it when people played with his mind.

"Right now, you're probably experiencing the aftereffects of the bluelights," Fisher explained to him. "Odd feeling, isn't it? It takes a while, but once the neuro-data particles from the lights stop reaching your entorhinal cortex, you slowly start to forget what it was they were communicating to your brain. You probably don't remember who I am, am I right?"

He had to admit—Fisher had him there. Teyla hadn't known who he was either. Was he just a figment of Sheppard's imagination? What the hell were neuro-data particles? Where was Rodney when he needed him?

"I didn't think so," remarked Fisher. "Oh, well. It's too bad I never perfected that technology. It could have brought an end to the war so easily."

"Not that this isn't interesting or anything," John said harshly. "But I'd really appreciate it if you started explaining what the hell it is you're talking about."

"You organics are so aggressive," the old man grumbled, looking strangely akin to a sulky teenager. "Fine, then. I'll introduce myself. My name is Sedlren Brandelis."

Sheppard stared at him evenly. "You're Brandelis."

"Well," came the reply. "In a way…I'm really more of a copy of his core personality. This body is nothing more than a simple, temporary, but efficient carbon representation of my permanent programming."

Still, Sheppard found this hard to believe. He let the gravely 'man' ramble on about his true identity without interrupting.

"Yes, yes, I know. Very clever man, wasn't he? He had to make sure his favorite Wraith specimen would get the proper care he deserved after his inescapable demise. So he left me behind, to take care of it in the event he should die. Which he did. But he didn't foresee his pet Wraith outsmarting him, did he? No, no, no…I'm only a program. I don't know how to handle feral Wraith in the event he should try to escape."

"You're job is to…take care of the Wraith," Sheppard affirmed. "Well, I think it's safe to say you should be _fired_."

But Brandelis was stuttering on like he couldn't hear the colonel. "But really, what could I do? You and your friends, Colonel, oh! You and your friends are stubborn and smart. I did what I could. But you thwarted me."

To Sheppard, it was gradually starting to make sense. Many of the things he couldn't answer before were finally coming together. "So it wasn't the Wraith," he pointed out. "It was you controlling the blue lights and the satellite's computers."

"Oh, yes. The Wraith learned to tap into my program—as a virus. That's how he set his trap. He's bent on destroying Brandelis—destroying me. He really thinks that I am he, that I am organic. Insane!"

"That's why you helped us," Sheppard filled in, tugging at the firm bonds around his wrists. "You want to stop the Wraith from destroying you."

"Not me, Colonel. I wanted to stop him from destroying himself. And you. Needless to say, that didn't work. I opened the airlocks. You didn't leave. I abducted Major Lorne. You didn't leave. I don't understand you organics. Where is you fear? You sense of self-preservation? Of survival?"

"That would be buried somewhere beneath my concern for my friends," Sheppard replied coldly. "I'll just assume you were too shy to introduce yourself before the Wraith abducted Rodney's brain."

"I tried," Brandelis objected. "I had to conceal myself. The Wraith would have found me, Colonel. And we all would all be dead."

"You know, I really don't like you," the colonel said dangerously, struggling against the bonds that held him down. His arm burned like hell, but that was nothing compared to the fury that boiled under his skin. "Where are McKay and Lorne?"

He felt Ronon's arm twitch as he said that. Obviously, the Satedan was just as eager to know the answer. If they were still where Sheppard thought they were, then this Brandelis guy was going to have more than just the Wraith to worry about.

As it turned out, his fears (as always) turned out to be true.

"You should forget them," said the old man. "The Wraith's host was doomed from the moment he touched those modules. Your other friend…I'm sorry, Colonel. He was inside the machine. He could be contaminated. I couldn't risk unleashing that monster on the galaxy!"

"You left them there?" Sheppard growled.

"Please," rasped Brandelis, sounding at the very least, apologetic. "I placed the young man into the machine. The buffer was full. I gave him back his life. He can live out the remainder of his time as his younger self, but that was all I could do for them. It's too late."

"Like hell it is," the colonel informed him. "Ronon, now's a good time."

The Satedan didn't need a second opinion. Brandelis's programming might have been complex enough to include themes of self-defense and remorse, but it clearly hadn't predicted Ronon's strength for what it was. In one swift lunge, he jerked his arms apart, snapping the plasticuffs that he had been working at since he regained consciousness. Brandelis didn't have a moment to react before the larger man was on him, pinning him against the Puddlejumper's controls.

Sheppard threw his weight forward, climbing unsteadily to his feet—not an easy accomplishment with his arms tied behind his back, one of which was still bleeding from a gunshot wound. The organic body of the Brandelis program was struggling pointlessly against the stronger Satedan.

"I'm trying to help you! You shouldn't be doing this!" he was shouting. Clearly, he wasn't in the best of shape, since he stopped only seconds later, sweating profusely. "You…don't know what it's like," he panted angrily. "To be afraid for you very existence, knowing you can't escape the creature that wants nothing but to destroy you!"

Sheppard hovered over the trapped, bristly man, glowering. "Maybe I don't," he admitted bitterly. "But I can think of a few million people in this galaxy that do."

Brandelis stared up at him with wide eyes. In all likelihood, he hadn't a clue what the colonel was talking about. An instant later, his expression turned dark. His body went lax.

"I won't let it get me," he whispered.

And then, with no warning whatsoever, his body melted. Like a vast pile of transparent glue, it shifted out of the scientist's body and slid to the floor. Surprised, Ronon jumped back, shaking droplets of the liquid substance from his hands in disgust. The two teammates stared at it for a stunned moment, at the matter soaking the panels of the Puddlejumper's interior. When it didn't do anything but sizzle and steam harmlessly, Sheppard decided that it wasn't going to jump up and attack them.

"He's gone," Ronon pointed out needlessly. "Is that good?"

"I don't know." The colonel made a cautious step towards the front of the jumper. "Something tells me that's not the last we'll see of him."

"Can you turn us around?"

"I could try, just as soon as you get these damn cuffs off me," the reply came a bit acidly. "I know you have a knife on you somewhere."

Ronon grinned, producing such an instrument from his belt. Once he'd cut the colonel's bonds, Sheppard sat down at the jumper's controls. He felt intense relief when the craft responded to him instantly. Even if Brandelis had somehow managed to download himself into the Puddlejumper's systems, he obviously couldn't bypass the ATA recognition technology.

"Okay, impulse engines coming online," he announced with a tone of triumph. Slowly, the ship made a u-turn towards the Daedalus and the Ancient satellite behind them. "I just hope we make it back before the Wraith ship gets here."

He opened a radio frequency with the jumper's computer. "Colonel Caldwell, I really hope you can hear this."

A second or so of static. And then:

_"Colonel Sheppard, if this is really you, I hope you have a damn good explanation for what's happening out there." _

Despite himself, Sheppard smirked at Ronon. "That'll have to wait, sir. Although I'm a little confused as to why you might think I'm not me."

_"Let's just say we've been fooled once, Colonel. What's your status?" _

Ronon rolled his eyes and backed away from the controls, taking a heavy seat in one of the chairs behind Sheppard.

"Well, obviously I've regained control of the jumper," Sheppard said, half-concentrating on putting as much power into the engines as he could risk. "We're on our way back to pick up McKay and Major Lorne now. Our friendly neighborhood computer virus apparently doesn't mind letting them be his collateral damage."

_"Delay that action, Colonel,"_ said Caldwell from his position aboard the vast ship. _"Stay clear of the satellite until all hostile craft have been destroyed. That's an order. Caldwell out." _

The colonel's face twisted in confusion. "What?" he said, essentially to himself. For in the next moment, he had his answer.

In a brilliant blue flash, a Wraith hive ship dropped out of hyperspace on the opposite side of the Ancient satellite. It reflected against the surface of his eyes as he stared out at the gargantuan vessel of destruction.

"Oh, shit."

The hive ship opened fire.

* * *

TBC 

AN: I'm cruel to Lorne and Rodney.


	11. Rules

**_Rules of War_**

AN: I used to live off of Tim Hortons. Now I work there. It's all part of the great circle of life.

* * *

"Every true genius is bound to be naive."

-- J.C.F. von Schiller

* * *

_Chapter Eleven: Rules_

_-_

**4:00 pm, Jumper One, Space**

_Alright_, thought John.

To hell with the rules.

The hive ship opened fire, and so did the Daedalus. It was like watching a movie screen playing the climax of a space film. The missiles from Daedalus streaked silently towards the gargantuan hive ship, but too slowly to counteract the cascade of blue bursts of energy that rained down on the surface of the Ancient satellite. Fiery eruptions, like so many hideous boils, burst open the hull of the structure—

—and then the mother of all explosions tore it apart, sending chunks of the station spinning in all directions.

It dragged a knife through Sheppard's gut until the bright reflection of orange and red hurt his eyes, and he was forced to shut them and look away. There was an indescribable silence as the Daedalus and the Wraith drifted apart, surrounded by bits and pieces of the wreckage. The missiles had barely even scratched the hive ship.

With the sensors on the fritz, there was no telling if anything had survived that hellish inferno. But Sheppard didn't need the jumper to tell him what he saw.

Nothing.

Not a single damn thing. Not even a piece of debris large enough for a scientist and a US Air Force officer to survive in before being exposed to hard vacuum.

The hive ship slowly turned on the Daedalus, and the Daedalus continued to sit idly by while they sized each other up. Sheppard stared unbelievingly. _Why is no one firing at anyone?_

As if on cue, the hive ship exploded.

_Oh._

The enormous alien spacecraft burst into millions of random pieces and Wraith corpses; dwarfing the satellite's smaller field of debris with its somehow less-than-impressive splendor. If Hermiod had somehow found a way to beam a nuclear explosive on board the hive ship, then let that be _their_ goddamned victory. Sheppard wasn't so sure that 'victory' was what he was feeling right now.

Ronon was never very good at repressing his rage, and judging by the way he punched the jumper's seat in front of him, Teyla obviously hadn't gotten around to teaching him. Sheppard chose to say nothing. Even a word in Rodney's memory seemed inappropriate right now. And Lorne, too. Shit.

He'd never fully understood Rodney. It took a while to grasp what it was that drove the guy to do anything beyond his tenacity and irritability. All he ever did was eat, sleep, think and complain. But other than that, he made all kinds of unpredictable mistakes—acts of bravery, even, that usually ended up getting the whole team in trouble.

Like getting infested, and subsequently blown up by the Wraith.

Happy birthday, Rodney.

It was such a goddamned _waste_. McKay should never have gone through the hell he did, just to die because some cowardly old computer virus was afraid of a single Wraith.

A broken Ancient machine. That's all it ever boiled down to. The next time he met an Ancient scientist, he'd have to give them a polite 'thank-you' for all the crap they left rotting around the Pegasus Galaxy that had nearly—or in this case, succeeded—in killing one of his friends.

For what seemed like hours, Sheppard stared at the field of debris outside the Puddlejumper screen. Ronon sat down beside him, eyes hard as a rock and his knuckles turning white.

"Now what?" he said darkly.

The colonel didn't answer. He didn't have to. Neither of them had a clue as to what should be done next—the satellite was gone, the Daedalus safe, the Wraith gone…all that was left was to go home.

But still.

Sheppard reached for his radio, and spoke without a shred of appeal in his voice. "Colonel Caldwell, this is Sheppard. Glad you people are okay, but Ronon and I have decided to stick around and look for our guys. Sheppard out."

He switched off the connection before he could hear Caldwell's answer. He had no intention of following orders, anyway. There was still a small chance Rodney and Lorne were still alive, somewhere, and he wasn't about to give up without at least examining the evidence. What was it Ford's grandparents had said? Don't lose hope until all hope is gone? Yeah, that sounded right. Here's hoping.

He hadn't forgotten about Brandelis, either. If that maniac was still inside the jumper, he would have to be careful piloting through the debris. The smallest change of course could send them crashing into something they _really_ didn't need to get close to.

There was no activity from the Daedalus, which probably meant he had free rein to search the wreckage for his missing teammates. The jumper's sensors picked up thousands of fragments, most of them smaller than the average SUV and even smaller. Nothing, nothing, nothing, a few spots of weird radiation, and more nothing.

And then—there. A small blip on the screen in front of him. It displayed as a friendly greet dot, which probably accounted for about one tenth of his surprise. The other ninety percent happened because he was not staring at any old piece of debris, but a bonafide Ancient military-class battle module. Or as Rodney would have called it, an 'X-Wing'.

It only looked a _little _bit like an X-Wing, but then, he never was that into Star Wars. It was pretty big, though, and it was jettisoning away from the field of debris like a bat out of hell. And Sheppard's first, angry thought was: _Brandelis._ That son-of-a-bitch was trying to escape. It was the only possible explanation.

"Do you think that's…?" Ronon didn't finish the question. They both had the same gut feeling.

"Maybe," the colonel replied roughly, forcing himself to remain calm. "Guess the slimy bastard had a backup plan, after all."

After a moment, the Satedan turned a serious look on him. "And you're not going to follow him?"

"I would if I could. But seeing as he's moving twice as fast as us and we're almost definitely less agile, chasing him won't do any good, will it?"

"You're letting him get away."

"Yeah. I'm not happy about that, either." Sheppard's face hardened as he stared, rejecting all painful emotions, into the infinite stars. "Right now, I'm more worried about getting the hell out of here before the next explosion blows us halfway back to Atlantis."

"What next explos—

A fiery inferno erupted from the center of the debris field, cutting Ronon's confused sentence in half. Fortunately, Sheppard had already turned the Puddlejumper away from the origin of the blast, and the wave of heat and fragments hit their ship like a flyswatter. Jumper One pitched forward, spinning out of control as the two occupants struggled to stay upright.

When the vacuum of space had rapidly quelled the flames, Ronon and Sheppard took a moment to revel in the aftermath. One look at the colonel's face told Ronon all he needed—the explosion was a parting gift from Brandelis. The Daedalus had not been touched, but then, it was probably not the target the mad remnants of the former Ancient scientist's mind had intended.

"Guess he was serious about killing Rodney," muttered Sheppard, bringing the ship around to face the debris field. Most of the satellite's remains had been atomized by Brandelis' bomb. Even if something had been left behind, there was no retrieving it now.

It was pretty ironic, space being silent and all. It didn't offer a single sound of compassion in the wake of this disaster. Even the explosions had been silent. All of a sudden, Sheppard wanted to hear something—some idiotic remark about the physics of space and sound; wanted to argue with McKay about the 'cool factor' of sci-fi movies always having sound in space. Versus Rodney's almost fanatical belief in the molecular impossibility of sound waves traveling through vacuum, it was cakewalk to drive the astrophysicist up the wall by refusing to accept the subtlety of realism when it came to filmmaking.

Everything was only starting to make sense when, as if Steven Spielberg himself had planned it, Caldwell's voice came over the radio.

_"Colonel Sheppard, if you're there—respond. This is Daedalus, requesting an immediate response from Jumper One. Do you read?"_

Reluctantly, the colonel switched his radio on. "We survived, Colonel. Unfortunately, Dr. McKay and Major Lorne weren't as lucky."

There was a distinct pause on the other end. _"I beg to differ, Colonel. Hermiod has recovered two pod-like devices from the wreckage of the satellite, complete with both Major Lorne and Dr. McKay inside them—alive. If you hadn't so illicitly cut the radio, I would not have been forced to use the restricted emergency frequency, and that information would have been available to you earlier."_

"Alive?" Sheppard could hardly believe what he was hearing.

_"No, Colonel. They really are dead. I've recently discovered I have a sense of humour and my psychiatrist recommended that I use it more frequently. Yes, they're alive for now. As for your refusal to comply with proper military procedures, I'm not as inclined to express my amusement."_

He opened his mouth to reply, but Caldwell cut him off.

_"Putting aside violations of a certain chain of command, you're welcome to land on my ship. You'll meet with the engineers in charge of recovering the pods as soon as possible. Caldwell out."_

The abruptness in which the transmission cut out failed to shake him. All this time he'd been searching the debris field for what had already been found. What a way to have his heroic tenacity come back and bite him in the ass. He looked at Ronon. "I think I've had enough explosions for one day. How about you?"

There was a snort. "Shall we go home?"

"I thought you'd never ask." They were both feeling the elation that came with the news about Rodney's survival. It was one thing to lose a soldier in combat—hell, even in espionage—but to lose a friend was another story. Not that he'd ever tell anyone he considered McKay a friend. That would be like admitting to the Wraith that they _really_ creeped him out.

Before he even realized it, the Puddlejumper had drifted into the landing bay inside the Daedalus's left docking port. He released the controls and stood up, heading for the back of the ship as the compartment around the repressurized. Ronon opened the rear hatch and they stepped simultaneously out onto the floor, where they were greeted by a handful of security detail.

"Colonel Sheppard, sir," said an unshaven man, nodding curtly. "We've been instructed to escort you directly to the infirmary. This is only a precautionary measure, however, so please don't think of this as a sign of distrust."

"Listen," Sheppard said. "It's been a long day. If you guys wanna tag along, be my guest. Ronon, let's go."

His Satedan counterpart cut through the group of uniforms smoothly, clearing a path for Sheppard to take into the east corridor. The detail fell in behind them, keeping their assorted opinions to themselves. The rough-edged man who had earlier spoken paced beside the colonel with military expertise. Sheppard was able to glance at the name stitched on his shoulder and learned that the man was in fact, the head of security and had a funny name: Syblus

"We've been told that Teyla had the bullet in her shoulder extracted without difficulty," Syblus reported. "One of the alien pods was partially damaged, though Major Lorne managed to survive with only a few burns and a bad headache."

Sheppard waited for the other shoe to drop. It never did. He stopped in the middle of the corridor and eyed Syblus. "And?"

On this man's cragged face, shame was a poor mask. Syblus clasped his arms behind him and looked elsewhere—the unlucky bastard who had been chosen to break bad news to people who didn't take bad news lightly.

"Colonel, the second pod…before I relay this information, sir, you should be prepared to consider Dr. McKay deceased. To be honest, we have no idea if he's going to live."

The colonel's stare was cold. "Why _not_?"

"I think I'd better try tae answer that."

Dr. Beckett's accented voice was sad relief for impatient ears. The worn-and-worried doctor appeared in front of them, stripping off a pair of bloody surgical gloves as he came to a halt. Sheppard hadn't realized they were so close to the infirmary until now.

"Carson," said the colonel quaintly. "Good to see you decided come along."

"Aye, are ye kiddin' me, lad?" the Scotsman joked with a half-hearted chuckle. Then he frowned. "Holy crap, Colonel. You've been shot, too?"

Sheppard sighed. He'd almost forgotten about his arm--but then, he'd been shot before. "It's nothing. Just tell me what I need to know."

The doctor's return sigh was much more lenient, though clearly strained. "Well, the moment I heard abou' yer team not reportin' back, I packed mae things and bought a first-class ticket." The humour faded from his face and became angst. "Colonel, I'm afrai' we've hit a stump with that wee rascal we call Rodney."

"So I've heard."

"Come along, then," said Beckett, turning. They began to walk again as a group, as he continued. "We managed tae get him out of the pod without killin' him, which believe me, was a bloody miracle tae start with. After that, it's been one disaster after another. His heart rate is dangerously low, and if his brain doesn't stop switchin' on and off', his nervous system will 'ave a catastrophic breakdown."

"And what caused it? Does anyone know?"

The Scotsman raised an eyebrow at him. "Ye mean aside from the fact he had a bullet lodged inside his bloody skull? Aye, it might have avoided his brain, but I can't see the poor man bouncin' back from an injury like that on a dime."

"Okay. A hole in the back of his head. Other than that, there's nothing else?"

"If yer referrin' to the nanites in Rodney's bloodsteam, aye, there's a good chance they're what's causin' the erratic activity in his brain." Carson placed a hand on his neck as he paced, feeling for the worst kink and trying to wring it out. "Now Dr. Yolane already filled in the part about the Wraith takin' possession of the belligerent little man, so I'm kin to understand that these nanites are makin' some last ditch attempt at stayin' alive."

"The Wraith," Ronon growled with immeasurable hatred.

Sheppard tightened his jaw as the puzzle rotated inside his mind. "No."

"What?"

"No, it's not the Wraith. The Wraith probably died eons ago."

Everyone had stopped. Everyone was looking at him.

"But we just—" Ronon started to say.

"We've been duped." The colonel's tone was harsh and annoyed. "This whole thing—the Wraith, the blue lights, the ZPMs, the pods—they're all props he used to get what he really wants. What he really _needs_."

Somehow, the awkward and bewildered silence that followed didn't make him feel any better. But there was no denying the conclusion he'd just drawn from this nightmarish turn of events. The whole thing—everything they'd heard and done—had been a ruse.

* * *

TBC

AN: More confused? Good. You should be. Next chapter will be a little slice of heaven.


	12. Machina

_**Rules of War**_

AN: Used appropriately, 'deus ex machinas' can be very entertaining.

* * *

"Rules are for people who don't know how to get around them." 

--Tori Harrison

* * *

_Chapter 12: Deus Ex Machina_

_- _

The Daedalus buzzed with life as Sheppard's group entered the infirmary. The disinfectants and warm metal of the room's framework produced a distinctive smell in the air—one Sheppard did not particularly like, being the 'hospital smell' he came to dread after every mission. Several men and women in white coats parted as the colonel cut through and stopped at the bedside of Atlantis's chief scientific advisor.

Unsurprisingly, McKay was out cold, sleeping off the drugs he had been given for his recent surgery. The man's eyelids flickered slightly, but other than that, he seemed to be fine. Okay—reasonable enough.

Somewhere in the back of Sheppard's mind, it occurred to him that Teyla should be here. He didn't see her in any of the beds, so she had probably refused treatment beyond the removal of the bullet, until Rodney received his treatment first. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done it, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

"Dr. Montgomery, any change in his vital signs?" Beckett questioned, budging Sheppard to one side to reach his patient.

"Not so far," the grainy old physicist responded, standing opposite of them. Behind him, Lorne sat on the edge of another bed, patiently enduring the examinations of a thin-lipped nurse while occasionally breathing through an oxygen mask. He looked, for the lack of a better word, very forlorn and tired, but otherwise uninjured. To complete the set, Colonel Caldwell stood nearby, though it was more than evident he wasn't here to visit the sick. He raised his eyes to look at Sheppard, and the colonel got the message. Debriefing was imminent.

Dr. Montgomery was speaking in an even tone, while Sheppard's party listened. "His blood pressure dropped to one eighty over fifty-six for several minutes, which nearly caused an episode of ventricular fibrillation. We brought him back down and his vitals are reading as normal as they've been since the bullet was removed. Miraculously, we estimate no permanent damage to the mastoid. He's pretty damn lucky it didn't break through the skull and puncture his temporal lobe, because if it had, we'd all be standing in the morgue right now."

"Aye, doctor, I'm aware of that," Beckett said morosely, placing both hands on the bar of McKay's bed.

"Major Lorne, now that we're all present and accounted for, maybe you'd be interested in sharing the details of your escape with Dr. Beckett," said Caldwell, taking arrest of the room.

The major pressed his lips together. "Colonel, I'd really—I mean _really_—love to, but I barely remember a thing. After Sheppard disappeared, McKay started going crazy about some kind of Wraith hive ship, and how we're both going to die if we didn't get inside the life-pods. I didn't see any other choice."

An engineer, a young kid Sheppard didn't recognize or even realize was in the room until now, stepped forward and spoke up. "The pods were, uh…shielded by a secondary generator; we're guessing the same one powering the anti-communiqué field around their part of the station. Everything else was ripped apart—Dr. McKay's pod sustained most of the damage, but the shields lasted long enough to protect them from vacuum long enough for the Daedalus to beam them over."

"Convenient," said Sheppard.

The engineer looked confused. "Yes…sir," he said slowly.

"You know, I always did find it a bit strange that our friend Brandelis wanted to get rid of the Wraith so badly when we got on board. Seems to me, if he had all that control over the satellite's computers, he could have left any time." Sheppard spoke casually, as though bringing up the topic in reflection of the matter, rather than investigating the peculiarity itself.

"Aye, that is curious," Beckett interjected, utterly unaware of the hostility behind the colone's speculation. "Given what little I know about neurotechnology, and this Brandelis character for that matter, it's all very possible that he needed Rodney tae escape."

"Which would explain why he went after Dr. McKay after the Wraith infected him," Lorne suggested, lowering the mask from his face and exhaling deeply.

Colonel Sheppard crossed his arms, glancing at Rodney's impassive face and feeling something inside his gut turn strongly. "True," he said. "Rodney touches something he shouldn't have, a 'Wraith' puts nanites into his system, goes violently out of control and meanwhile, Brandelis does everything he possibly can to make us believe there's a _real_ Wraith on board the satellite and sends us on a wild goose chase to get rid of it."

"Colonel, are you suggesting that there never was a _genuine_ Wraith threat?" Caldwell's voice turned prickly. "I suppose that hive ship we blew up twenty minutes ago was all a part of our overactive imaginations."

"That was a real hive ship," Sheppard retorted, retaining his casual manner. "Now I'm not usually that great at this theory stuff—but I've been paying pretty close attention to what Rodney does, and I can't figure for the life of me why a full-blown ZPM was being used to control just the _lights_ of the lifepod station."

"Brandelis was Fisher," Ronon pointed out mildly. "And he was the one who told you to shut it down."

"Yeah, but it's kinda strange he didn't think of it until _after _McKay had run off and Lorne was pushing ninety."

"Thanks," muttered Lorne.

Sheppard ignored him. "Colonel, if you were a narcissistic Ancient bastard stuck inside a mainframe for about ten thousand years, what would you really want the most?"

The Daedalus's commander gave him a glowering look. "Is that supposed to be a rhetorical question?"

"He'd want a way tae leave, I'd think," Beckett interjected, looking intricately concerned. "I'd be bloody well out of my mind by then. Colonel, I think I should at least take a wee look at that arm of yours—"

"Very good," Sheppard cut him off. "And what does a dying computer virus need the most to perform said escape?"

There was a dumbfounded silence that spread across the room like a plague. No one looked more bewildered than Beckett, who was not only in a deep anxiety for Rodney as a patient, but slowly coming to realize a truth no one had ever suspected until now. After a few seconds of stunned stupor, Sheppard tossed his arms in the air to gesture his impatience.

"C'mon, people, this isn't rocket science! What does Brandelis need the most?"

"A body?"

It was a young woman who said that. Straight brown hair, narrow face, shy eyebrows; the kind of wiry doctor that usually had the largest brain and the smallest ego. Sheppard rounded on her. "He needs a body," she expanded a little nervously. "But not just any body…the nanites we scanned in Dr. McKay's brain aren't cooperating with his blood cells…which we can only speculate is because the Ancient DNA is synthetic and not genuine."

"I'm sorry, people, but I'd have to say I'm confused. You're indicating that this Brandelis person is _inside_ Dr. McKay?"

"Ronon, tell the good Colonel what happened to Brandelis after you kicked his ass," Sheppard instructed.

Not used to being called on in such situations, the Satedan raised his brow and said, "He melted."

"Exactly. No more Brandelis—just one great big puddle of messy, Ancient goo. So we all know he can't use his wax collection to escape the satellite—hence the reason for nanites, and his reason to infest McKay."

"There never was a Wraith," Ronon concluded.

Sheppard set his mouth in a grim line. "Nope," he said. "He's paranoid about the Wraith. He knew there was a hive ship on its way, and he needed to bail out. So, when Lorne and his team show up, he springs into action."

"What are you talking about?" Lorne made a puzzled expression from behind his oxygen mask. "I never touched anything when we got here—it was Dr. McKay who put his hands on the ZPMs and got infected."

Sheppard crossed his arms, regarding him without betraying his own frame of mind. "Somehow, I doubt McKay got the nanites from the ZPMs, because I think Brandelis needed time to figure out that McKay's ATA gene was getting the crap kicked out of it. He infected McKay with the nanites when he got zapped fixing the door, and _then_ Brandelis had a problem. He had a dying host and he needed someone with the natural gene to replace Rodney."

"Colonel Sheppard, it really is getting' late and there are patients waitin' for their doctor, especially with that nasty bullet in your arm—" Beckett started to say, anxious to get back to tending the sick and wounded.

"Hold on, doc," said the colonel abruptly. "I think I know what's wrong with McKay."

"But you're just speculating," Lorne pointed out.

Colonel Sheppard stared at him placidly. "'Maybe you're right. But for the record, it's 'you're just speculating…_sir'_."

And with that, he drew his sidearm and aimed it at Lorne.

The reaction this invoked was like lightning striking the farm roof—all three marines standing behind Colonel Caldwell lifted their weapons and trained them on Sheppard. Caldwell looked surprised. Several of the nurses and technicians milling around made various sounds of surprise, all instinctively stepping back from the apparently unbalanced lieutenant colonel.

Lorne just stared at him, unblinking. He lowered the oxygen mask.

"Bravo," he said. "Well done, Sheppard."

No one counted on Lorne's reflexes being far superior to that of any natural being, because it took less than a second for the infected man to grab the sidearm of the marine nearest to him. A piercing crack split the air, and a spattering, red hole appeared in Beckett's upper-right chest. The good doctor fell backwards, just barely caught by the physicist behind him as confusion and chaos broke out everywhere else.

It took every ounce of his strength not to fire on Lorne. Sheppard knew, even in the instant he realized that Carson had been shot, that Brandelis was going AWOL inside Lorne's body just a few feet away, and he couldn't do that to the man. The marines standing around him had the same hesitation—one that cost them the opportunity to grab the major as he sprung forward and dashed for the infirmary entrance.

And he was gone.

"Go after him!" Caldwell half-bellowed over the clamor. "Lieutenant, get every last marine aboard this ship on that man before he reaches the hangar!"

Ronon had taken off the moment after the shot, hot on Brandelis's heels. Lieutenant Syblus and the three marines already present took off after him in close pursuit. Sheppard felt a painful weight drag him over to where Beckett lay half-sprawled on the floor, with three other white-coats surrounding him in a mad flood of angry shouting and action.

"Oh, son of a bitch, Carson," the colonel swore, seeing the flag of red blood staining the Scot's coat. This was the third time that bastard had shot one of his friends. Rodney counted. Sheppard didn't even consider his own savagely aching arm—one that probably could have used immediate medical attention—as anything.

Teyla, Rodney—now Beckett. Brandelis had a lot of his friends' blood on his imaginary hands.

And _no one_ gets away with that.

Suddenly, a rough hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him back. Dr. Montgomery glared at him from behind his glasses face, grizzled face etched with a doctor's authority. "We're doctors, colonel. Let us do our job. Go get your man."

People were pulling a shocked Beckett onto a gurney now, hurriedly gathering equipment, needles, gauze, IV tubes and everything else under the medical sun to save their chief surgeon's life. There were _three_ perfectly qualified doctors thrashing around, doing their best, and Sheppard had a good feeling that when he got back, Carson would already be back on his feet and insisting that he take a look at his arm.

Not another word needed for encouragement, the colonel sprinted off towards the hangar. If Ronon got to him first, there might not be enough left of Lorne to be considered worth saving for a funeral. And if the marines got there first, Syblus might very well order his men to fire…

Lorne was a good guy. There was a painting in his room that was only half-finished. And after three hours of arguing over how bad of an art critic Sheppard was, he wasn't about to let it stay unfinished forever.

And then it occurred to him, through the jarring pain in his arm and the cold metal grip of the M9 in his hand—this war did have rules after all.

* * *

AN: Got more questions? Still confused? Probably. Just keep waiting…and…yeah, guns are bad. 


	13. War

**_Rules of War_**

AN: I think…I think I had a dream about writing this chapter, a long time ago. I remember dreaming about the reviews, too…and most of those reviews were people yelling at me for making this chapter too complicated. It's weird, I know. I'm serious. It's funny, but I've got 'perfect déjà vu' about all this…hmmm. Well, I hope it makes sense. I've temporarily insinuated a couple of my other favorite characters. You know who they are.

* * *

"You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war." 

--Albert Einstein

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen: War_

_-_

**5:16 pm, Daedalus Corridors, Outside Hangar**

Sheppard didn't know either of the Marines trailing behind him. One guy was young, clean-shaved and silent. The other guy reminded him of Rambo—with a cigar, some big, fat straps of shells and a machine gun, he could have his own action figure. They didn't know him; he seriously doubted they were even fully briefed on what was happening aboard the ship or why they were here, but they followed his orders without hesitation and did what good marines did best, which was always a great help.

Lts. Yancy and Hatcher. Sure, he might forget their names five minutes later, but at least he'd asked.

Keeping himself distracted from the chase wasn't working as well as he'd hoped. It was not a very creative pursuit—there was only one place Brandelis could go, what with his devious plans being unveiled and all. But Caldwell, bless his questionably sized heart, had given a ship-wide order to shoot and kill only as a last resort.

So far, Sheppard and his new Marine buddies had found three non-military personnel with bullet wounds. Two were dead; the third practically dead already. They also found a lone security officer, his neck snapped from behind. Brandelis was leaving a trail of bodies for him to follow, knowing full well that he had the advantage over them, with Major Lorne's life at stake. And in correlation, Rodney's as well.

Sheppard had a few questions to ask him concerning Rodney. And once he was done asking them politely, he was going to hurt him—badly—for shooting Carson. And the three technicians, and the security guy, and himself, and Teyla, and McKay…

"_Security team five, reporting section nine secured," _a voice said over his radio. There were a few similar messages, and then a bout of silence. Sheppard wasn't ten paces away from the blast door sealing him off from the main hangar, when another voice reported in his ear, "_Hangar has been cleared. Repeat: the hangar is clear. No sign of the hostile target."_

Oh, right. Lorne had a radio; Brandelis could hear everything they were saying. Now it was all down to one great big game of cat-and-mouse until they either found him, or he eliminated his searchers, one by one. Sheppard sighed irritably. He should have known Brandelis wasn't stupid enough to walk into a trap. The outcome of this little war was going to depend on how quickly they would corner him, and even then, Sheppard had a feeling he knew what would happen when Brandelis was cornered.

"Sir?" Lt. Yancy broke the moment of indecision, and Sheppard was glad he did—his emotions were getting a little out of hand. The younger, slimmer man cradled his P90 in a tight stance. "If you don't mind me asking, sir—what is our next move?"

Face wrought with concentration, the colonel stood in the middle of the corridor for a moment before turning around. "We don't," he replied coarsely. "The next move is his. He knows we're after him, and he's got Lorne's understanding of the Daedalus's layout. By now, he's probably running out of ammo and he's gonna take advantage of every surprise he can get."

"Should we be sticking around the hangar?" Hatcher voice. "The only other way off the Daedalus is via Asgard beam, and the engineering room is two decks above us—

"Damn it!" Sheppard cursed angrily. "That's where he's headed! He's got a ship out there—if he gets to it, we're all screwed. Don't—" he added quickly, seeing Yancy reach for his radio, "—say anything to anyone. He's got Lorne's radio."

A look of realization came over Yancy's face. He lowered his hand and readied his P90 again. "Sheppard."

He heard Ronon approaching from behind and recognized his voice instantly, but his escorting marines whirled on the Satedan with weapons primed. He ignored them.

"Stand down," Sheppard ordered. To his teammate, he added, "What happened?"

"Turned a corner and he was gone." There was clear evidence in his tone that he was unhappy about losing track of his target. "I thought maybe you'd found him first."

"Not quite, but almost."

"You have a plan?"

"I've got an idea."

"All right, let's go."

They left the hangar doors and started off towards the lifts that would take them to the engineering section of the ship. Privately, Sheppard was hoping no one else would think about the Asgard beaming technology, since they really needed the element of surprise—but then, no one else knew as much about Brandelis than Ronon and himself. It probably wouldn't occur to anyone that the Ancient computer virus might know the things that Lorne knew.

If Sheppard remembered correctly, the lift took them straight into the adjoining room off the main engineering division. And on the opposite side—with human ears, Brandelis wouldn't be able to hear them coming. Hopefully.

He risked a glance at Ronon as the lift ascended; a completely different profile than what he saw in the marines' faces. Ronon was a tough guy to deal with when just _one_ of his teammates—not just his friends—were threatened or hurt. But the big guy was expressionless. Composed.

_Deadly_, thought Sheppard. He would never, ever get on Ronon's bad side for as long as he lived.

* * *

- 

**5:24 pm, Daedalus Engineering, Main**

The decks above and below the hangar level had been evacuated of all non-essential personnel as quickly as possible. Most of the ship's occupants were locked in quarters, offices, labs, kitchens and recreation areas. But the engineering level was deserted. One the lift doors slid open, Sheppard felt a familiar chill that usually came over him whenever he entered a war zone.

He silently signaled Yancy and Hatcher to approach the intersection to their left with extreme caution, but not to engage. They moved off, peering around the corner and signaling back: no sign of the target. Sheppard and Ronon advanced to the right, where the wall behind them slanted off towards a one-hundred-and-twenty degree corner. Beyond that corner would be the engineering mainframe, where their resident Asgard practically ruled over the human crew.

The colonel quickly signaled the two marines to remain in position until military assistance was needed. He and Ronon then approached the dubious corner and moved out into the open chamber.

There was Lorne, all right. Dr. Novak and another engineer he didn't recognize were sprawled on the floor, either dead or unconscious. Not-Lorne was right next to the large console where Hermiod was also standing, gazing placidly at the major

"Major Lorne, I am afraid I cannot comply with your request," he said evenly, blinking his wide, coal-black eyes.

Sheppard's back stiffened when he saw that Brandelis had the sidearm aimed at the Asgard pacifist. But the alien didn't seem fazed by the fact that his life was being threatened—not that he was an expert on the little guy's range of emotion, but Hermiod looked distinctively pissed.

"This is not a request, Asgard," Not-Lorne responded in kind. He had yet to realize that they weren't alone. "Transport me to the coordinates I gave you. I am in control here; _not _you."

"Why did you attack Drs. Novak and Sinclair?"

"If I were you, I would be more concerned about myself than them," growled not-Lorne. "You're the one standing between me and that transporter beam of yours. "

"Correction," said Hermiod. "I am standing precisely where I am supposed to be."

The gun exploded in not-Lorne's hand—the round was aimed in the Asgard's direction, but struck the wall behind his head with a brief shower of sparks. Hermiod did not flinch.

Sheppard decided that this was a good time to get involved.

"Careful," he remarked. "You might not want to waste those."

In abrupt panic, not-Lorne spun around, his vigorously shaking hand an open flag in the air before him. The M9 rattled in his grip, sending short spasms along the major's arm as Brandelis fought his host for control. If not for Lorne, that last shot may not have missed the Asgard so broadly.

Ronon had his blaster trained on not-Lorne. Sheppard had Ronon's sidearm pointed, too, but it was mostly for show. He wasn't going to shoot Lorne unless he really, really had to. Watching Brandelis labor so hard to keep his control over Lorne made him feel a lot better.

"It's not easy anymore, is it?" he asked derisively, taking a step forward. "What, taking control of people's bodies not what it used to be?"

"Be quiet," growled Brandelis, through Lorne's lips. He had somehow regained control over the body and had the pistol aimed point-blank at Sheppard's head.

Ronon switched the setting on his blaster to maximum. "Make him."

"Give up, Brandelis. You've been improvising since Rodney turned your gun around, and you're not scoring any points pretending you're still using Plan A." Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "So let's say you put down the weapon, turn yourself in, and maybe we'll talk launching you and your damned nanites into a black hole."

"I would have let you live," came the cold response. "If you'd left him behind, so many deaths could have been prevented. So many. Including McKay, and that other one you're so fond of. After all, McKay was just a carrier. And that poor, poor Dr. Beckett—"

"Shut the hell up! All of those so called 'deaths' would've never happened if you'd just asked us for help, instead of wasting our time dragging us all over that damned satellite, chasing our guys! Stop acting like you had _nothing_ to do with killing our people!"

"The hive ship was coming, you ignorant little ape! I had to convince you that they were the enemy, or everything I had ever worked for would have been destroyed!"

Sheppard felt the rage bubble up inside him like a geyser. If it wasn't Lorne's face spitting those self-absorbed, conceited, ostentatious words, Brandelis would have six bullet holes in his chest by now.

"Can I shoot him now?" Ronon growled with hardly any restraint.

The colonel shot him a 'sorry, but not yet' look and relaxed his trigger finger. He needed answers from Brandelis still. And he had to find a way to separate the bastard from Lorne, or Brandelis's murder count would increase by one.

They were at a stalemate. Brandelis couldn't shoot him, or Ronon would shoot Lorne, thus killing Brandelis with him. Neither Ronon nor Sheppard could shoot Brandelis without killing Lorne. If Ronon tried to stun him, Brandelis just might have time enough to pull the trigger of his gun and that wouldn't be good for Sheppard. Everything was a mess.

And like all messes relating to the Pegasus galaxy, a resolution came out of nowhere.

"_Colonel Sheppard, are you there? You can indicate a positive response by shifting your weight onto your left foot."_

It was Syblus's voice on his radio—obviously on his private channel, since not-Lorne didn't show any reaction to it. Sheppard realized that _someone_ must be watching these events unfold from the other end of the cameras, and he now knew he had some backup beyond the two marines posted just around the corner. Being as casual as he dared, he leaned onto his left leg and continued to point the M9 at not-Lorne.

_"Good. Now, I have orders from Colonel Caldwell, directing you to allow Hermiod to lock the transporter beam onto Major Lorne."_

Sheppard controlled his surprise. By the way Ronon grunted slightly, he assumed the man was also getting this message. Luckily, Brandelis seemed to take their silence as some kind of standoff, and though he twitched a few times, he did not interrupt or make any more snide comments.

"It all boils down to now, Brandelis," Sheppard said aloud, speaking to both the mad little machines inside the major and the Daedalus chief of security behind the cameras. "If we let Hermiod beam you over to your ship, we're not convinced you won't turn it on us and try to take us on."

_"Don't worry, Colonel,"_ came Lieutenant Syblus again. _"We have no intentions of actually sending him anywhere. Just keep him busy for as long as possible. Dr. Zelenka is on board and he's pretty confident he can use the data they've collected from Dr. McKay's nanites to isolate the ones inside the major and beam them into a separate location while his body is still in its atomized state."_

That sounded like a mouthful. Knowing Zelenka, he was probably right there beside the man, dictating exactly what should be said. But using Asgard beaming technology on nanites? Could things that small actually be targeted? Especially since they were inside Lorne's brain…

But Zelenka was a genius, and he probably wouldn't suggest it unless he was pretty damn sure that he could do it successfully.

"Then again, we could always beam you into outer space," he went on, smirking. "I'd hate to do that to Major Lorne and all, but with the way things are going, I'm starting to doubt he's gonna make it anyway."

_"There's about a fifty-fifty chance he won't pull through, colonel, but it's our only shot. Hermiod's already receiving the orders through his console screen. Just stall for a few more minutes while he prepares everything."_

Stall? Stall tactics were definitely one of his strong points. Ronon and Teyla? Not so much. But Sheppard had already planned on thoroughly chewing Brandelis out for pretty much everything he'd put him and his friends through since this morning.

Whatever Brandelis had to say in response to his previous threat, it was slain by another of the colonel's verbal assaults.

"You know, I could never understand you Ancient scientist type people, making all these great technological advances and all-powerful weapons and preaching to _everybody_ else about how dangerous they are. And every time something bad happens to my team, it's because some _goddamned_ Ancient broke his own _goddamned_ rules, and forgot to tell anyone about it!"

And now Brandelis seized his opportunity to strike back.

"You fell into my trap by your own inability to reason with caution," he hissed through Lorne's lips. "You and this…gaggle of humans. Don't you realize what I am? What I stand for? _I_ am the answer to failed Ascension. _I_ am the extension of life itself! How else could I, the greatest biological mind in the galaxy survive all these millennia? For _centuries_, I used that machine to research Wraith DNA, the key to immortality, and for what? A thousand failed experiments? A few, measly pats on the back? A body ravaged with age and deception, and myself knowing that I will soon die, without ever having come close to achieving the ultimate answer?"

"No one cares," Ronon cut in. "If you think you're entitled to control who lives and who dies, then you're just as bad as the Wraith."

"Like he says." The colonel tilted his head in agreement. "'Key to immortality', my ass. You're just afraid of dying and not Ascending like the rest of your Ancient buddies," he spat, meaning every word of it. He'd gone beyond stalling and now he was downright irate. "I've almost Ascended. McKay's come close to it too, and I'm pretty damn sure that _every_ last person I know in Atlantis could do it if they put their minds to it. It's because you don't have what it takes. The reason you're nothing more than a bunch of scattered cells isn't because you were searching for an alternative to Ascension, it's because you _can't_ Ascend."

"You have no idea how wrong you are," warned Brandelis. Lorne's face was tightening, becoming less focused. "It is…_nothing_…like that! Of course I could have Ascended! I had plenty of opportunities, but my dedication to the research—"

"Bullshit." The word cut him off abruptly. Sheppard had no reason left to dwell upon. "You're just worm food; that's it. I'm no expert, but I don't think worm food belongs in a higher plain of existence."

_"Hermiod's ready, Colonel. Give him the signal."_

"If you ask me, Brandelis, you should really go to hell." Sheppard dropped his gun-arm to his side. "Now, Hermiod."

Brandelis opened Lorne's mouth in an attempt to shout something in return to the colonel's condemnation. His face and body was immediately swallowed by a bright flash of light, so brilliant that it momentarily left Sheppard blinded for moments after it dissipated.

When the flash was gone, so was Brandelis. And Lorne. There was, however, a cylinder of swelling, white light where the major's body should have been. Sheppard was only able to briefly wonder if he was actually witnessing a person being suspended in an Asgard beam mid-transport, when the light suddenly grew and then vanished completely.

Lorne's body dropped to the hard-cased floor, unconscious. Yancy and Hatcher both ran into the room at the first sign of the unexpected event. No one knew what to make of the man sprawled on his back, on the ground. No one but Sheppard.

"Lieutenant," he said into his radio, staring blankly at (not?)Lorne. "Tell me what just happened. Was Zelenka successful?"

Silence.

"Lieutenant!" growled the colonel. "Radek, answer me! Where is Brandelis? Did you get all the nanites?"

Hermiod was still staring at the screen of the console. The entire room began to pound around him as the blood flow inside Sheppard's veins increased. If someone didn't tell him what was going on soon, he was going to burst an artery.

And still.

Silence.

* * *

TBC 

AN: I don't think I know how to 'not' write a cliffhanger.


	14. Gravity

_**Rules of War**_

* * *

"Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning, and under every deep a lower deep opens."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen: Gravity_

_- _

**5:35 pm, Daedalus Engineering, Main**

"Syblus!"

Something inside of him was going to explode. Any minute now. Ronon's hand visibly shook as it hovered just above Lorne's unmoving body, ready to fire at the first sign of a counteroffensive. Sheppard's eardrums pounded to the rhythm and movement of silence. It seemed like forever had passed before the radio in his ear fizzed.

"_…ference…ibly the nani…eaction to the beam,_" someone was saying. Lieutenant Syblus. All right. There _was_ someone listening to him. Now he didn't feel so pissed off.

"What happened?" he repeated, stepping closer to Lorne. The major continued to lie, facedown on the metal floor with no indication that he was conscious.

"_The na…ied to self-destruct,"_ Zelenka's heavily accented voice replaced that of the security chief. Sheppard could only imagine the Czech pulling a 'Rodney' act and all but telling Syblus to shut up and let him speak.

When no further explanation came, Sheppard pressed.

"And?"

There was definitive silence after that. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Then, Zelenka said something else that made those hairs stand on end.

"_They succeeded."_

Ronon made a sound that was neither a sigh nor a grunt. He didn't understand the ramifications of what the Czech scientist was saying, and his patience was exhausted. "_Is _Brandelis dead, or what?"

_"Yes,"_ came the immediate answer. "_There is no doubt that the data encrypted into the nanites was destroyed. We were unable to use the radio through the inference caused by the radiation that came from the—_

"What about Major Lorne?" Despite Rodney's condition, the first and foremost thing on his mind was whether or not he had to shoot the man on the floor. Or if said man was even alive.

That question was answered easily; Lorne suddenly groaned and rolled himself over. Both Sheppard and Ronon positioned their weapons in front of his face. He blinked at them in surprise.

"Uh…hello, Colonel." The look of surprise on his face was convincingly realistic. "Nice gun. Did I miss…something?"

_"He should be fine,_" Zelenka informed them unnecessarily. _"He may suffer slight headache, but Rodney on the other hand is…zkurvysyne."_

Sheppard didn't know a lot of Czech, but he knew that word. It got around. Unlike the few times he'd heard it before, however, it made his heart skip a beat. "Doc? What's going on?"

"Don't move," Ronon told Lorne, who continued to stare awkwardly at barrel of the Satedan's blaster.

_"You must come to the infirmary, Colonel. Rodney is not well._ _Proč is tato—blbececk…"_

The radio transmission ended. Sheppard knew something had happened in the infirmary; that Radek was probably off his stool and already halfway to the scene. With a grim expression, the colonel remained where he was and stared at Lorne.

"Just one question, Major," he said, trusting in both his wit and the weight of the gun in his hand. "When Rodney abandoned you to rot in the sun on P3M-736, how'd you feel about that?"

The major's puzzled brow furled slightly. "The anger management classes helped a little."

Ronon lowered his weapon. "It's him."

"Help the man up, would you?" Sheppard instructed. "And let's get back to the infirmary before McKay explodes or something."

* * *

**5:46 pm, Daedalus Infirmary**

McKay wasn't exploding, exactly. But he was close.

Given, he probably had no idea what he was doing. When Sheppard and Ronon arrived, two of the security officers that had escorted him before were trying to hold Rodney down as he thrashed around in the infirmary bed. A glass of water was flung off the side table, shattering on the floor in a spray of clear and crystal droplets.

"What the hell's going on?" Sheppard demanded as soon as he was within earshot.

"He just woke up and started screaming, sir," Syblus explained as his officers struggled to keep the physicist from hurting himself. "We came running as soon as we heard, but he's not listening to anyone—not even Dr. Zelenka."

"Stupid little man…" Radek spoke softly, without a hint of ire in his voice. The look on his face might have broken the hearts of millions back on Earth, but it was still genuine.

"Rodney," said Sheppard, loudly. The scientist continued to strain against his captors, wild-eyed and streaked with perspiration. Although no longer screaming, he was making sounds that were definitely not natural.

"_McKay_!"

Sheppard hadn't really expected a reaction, to be honest. Someone could have told him a thousand ZPMs were being shipped to Atlantis tomorrow and the man probably wouldn't care.

"What's happening to him?" he challenged Dr. Montgomery, who stood nearby with an expression of irate surprise on his face.

"My guess is as good as yours," the doctor replied roughly, as a nurse finally managed to poke McKay with a long syringe without being injured in the process. "The monitor showed the dormant nanites suddenly spring to life and start attacking each other. If I were an expert on nanotechnology, which I'm not, I'd have to say that the cerebral cortex of his brain just became a battlefield."

"Where's Dr. Beckett?"

Finally, the older physician's face twitched. "In surgery."

_In_ surgery. Not performing the surgery, of course. So much for 'physician, heal thyself', or whatever it was they said. Sheppard suddenly felt his anger towards Brandelis grow threefold. If both Rodney _and_ Carson died as a result of the day's events, there would _be_ no more friendly Ancient tête-à-têtes. He'd just shoot every new Ancient machine he came upon, no questions asked.

Ronon had been silent during this exchange. The Satedan's face was dark and impassive, but Sheppard knew he was thinking murder. Not having an actual _person_ to kill in retaliation for torturing McKay was hard for him.

Ronon had his ways of showing affection for the team. He obeyed Sheppard with the intelligence of a soldier, and was loyal to a fault. He treated Teyla like a sister—maybe more, but now wasn't the time for speculation—and Rodney…well, he tolerated Rodney. And not only that, but he took great pains to protect him. Whenever McKay was threatened or hurt, he took it personally. Very personally.

One moment, McKay was trying to bite the people holding him down, and the next he had gone limp on the bed, panting desperately and gaping at the ceiling. Sheppard decided that now was the best time to get his attention.

"Hey, Rodney," he said, over the scattered voices of the medical personnel, all attempting to reestablish order in their infirmary. He stepped closer to the scientist's bed. "Take it easy, McKay. Everyone here's trying to help you."

"Not…not enough…there's not enough…" A moment later, he cringed, face tightening against another wave of pain. "Grrnngh!"

"What are you standing around for?" growled Sheppard to a slack-faced nurse. "Give him a shot of something!"

"We've dosed him as much as we can," explained the nurse softly. "Any more and it could make things worse."

"I think it's pretty bad right now, don't you?" The colonel was snapping now. Yeah, it wasn't her fault. But no one could blame him for being a jackass when Rodney was curled up in front of him, trying not to bite his tongue in half as a gaggle of Ancient nanites turned his brain into Swiss cheese.

"Rodney," he said to the grimacing man. "Hey. You've gotta listen carefully, buddy; there's no Wraith. It's not in there. Just, uh…" He swallowed as his throat got embarrassingly dry. "Just hang on, Rodney. I know it hurts like hell, but…dammit, McKay, stay focused!"

The marine to his left backed off quickly as Sheppard moved to replace him. Rodney was staring into open space, barely even twitching in response to any outside contact. Sheppard grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

There was no telling what was wrong with him. The wires monitoring his vitals had been torn off in the struggle. Doctors and nurses began to swarm all around, preparing what they could in the few seconds it took for McKay to make a sound.

"Sheppard?"

McKay's blue eyes darted towards him. Sheppard felt like a stone had dropped out of his chest. "Yeah, Meredith?"

The physicist's face jolted only slightly in annoyance, before turning completely bemused once again. He was still staring candidly, half-turned onto his side and unaware of the people around them. Then, as if someone had pushed the 'reset' button on the universe, he said,

"Where exactly are we?"

An involuntary smirk of relief twisted the colonel's lips.

"In the infirmary, Rodney. On the Daedalus."

"Oh." The response was short and uncertain, like a child who couldn't tell right from wrong. "Where's…how did I get here?"

"It's complicated. How about we talk about it over a glass of ice chips?"

McKay groaned—whether it was for the pain of his injury, or the fact that he would be eating ice chips for the next two days at least, it was a long groan. Reluctantly, Sheppard stepped back from the bed and let the professional doctors take over.

"Ronon?"

"Yeah?"

Sheppard gazed at the crowd of physicians blankly. "Still feel like shooting something?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Same here."

No one asked them to leave. Sheppard vaguely did remember, however, someone asking him about the bullet wound in his arm. But it was a blurred, motionless sort of memory. Because a few seconds after that, he had dropped unconscious.

The last thing he heard was McKay, demanding loudly to know where Carson was.

* * *

AN: I apologize for the shortness, and the clichéd chapter ending. There's one last chapter. Some more things are explained. I wrote most of this thing while desperately trying to stay awake…wow…I'm tired… 


	15. Reason

_**Rules of War**_

AN: Here it is. The last chapter. Have fun, kiddies…

* * *

"A good friend can tell you what the matter is with you in a minute. He may not seem such a good friend after telling."

--Arthur Brisbane

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen: Reason_

_- _

**(Days past) 1:25 pm, Daedalus Infirmary**

He could hear voices drifting in and out.

"…three patients, all of whom were shot near vital arteries…absolute mystery the way all three bullets were…only thing I can think of is the will power…"

And consequently, he would pass out again. He didn't know how much time passed, but he scarcely remembered the brief moments when he was conscious.

Long ago, Sheppard had decided he didn't like the 'hospital' smell. He knew Rodney didn't, either—mostly because a lemon-scented cleaner was used to clean and sanitize most non-medical surfaces—but it wasn't until now that he _really_ hated it. It was a very patronizing smell. If smells could talk, it would probably say "Hey, buddy, you're here again. What are you: a glutton for punishment?" and then laugh maniacally.

This time, Dr. Montgomery was standing above him. He found this out by opening his eyes. Such a simple task. Such a lousy reward.

"Welcome back to the real world, Colonel," said the doctor. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's McKay?"

Those were the first words out of his mouth. His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt. He'd been out for a while.

Montgomery had no change of expression whatsoever as he glanced at his clipboard. "Dr. McKay is…most likely eating lunch right now. He left about fifteen minutes ago."

"_What?_" Sheppard tried to sit up, but immediately regretted it. A sharp pain in his arm radiated into his chest and forced him to lie back down.

"Careful, Colonel," the old doctor warned him. "You did some heavy damage to that tendon in your arm. Not to sound prudent, but your arm would have been fine if you'd gotten it treated earlier."

"Yeah…" Sheppard grimaced as the pain dulled to a strange thudding sensation. "I had other things on my mind."

"If you only knew how many times I've heard that one."

The colonel opened his eyes again. "Carson?"

"Righ' here, I'm afraid," said a weary-sounding Scottish voice. Sheppard's heart did a double-take and he twisted his head to look at the occupant in the bed next to him.

"You're okay," he said ingeniously.

Beckett smiled grimly. He was reclining in his bed, with a sling around one arm and looking miserable and anxious—but not in pain. That was good. "Aye, that I am. Nothin' seriously damaged, and not a broken bone in me. I was damned lucky."

"I'd say," Sheppard replied, following up with a heavy sigh.

"An' what about you, lad? How are ye feelin'?"

"Like I want a second opinion."

Carson laughed a little, with an amused crinkle of his eyes. "Don't be expectin' any in this prison ward of a hospital, Colonel. Believe me, I've tried."

To that, Sheppard could not help but grin. "Getting a taste of your own medicine, doc?"

"I'd be careful what I say to him, if I were you," Montgomery said a little dismally, glaring at the Scot over the rim of his glasses. "He has all of my nurses wrapped tightly around his finger. If you don't want any extra surprises in your breakfast, you'd better be on your best behaviour."

"What can I say?" said Beckett, feigning innocence. "The lasses are charmed by mae attractive personality."

"Why is Rodney not here?" Sheppard asked, feeling a little stupid about the question, but needing to know the answer anyway.

Beckett's face became serious. "Rodney was released about three days ago, Colonel. It's…well, tae be honest, it's a bloody miracle. The nanites are completely gone, but he still managed to recover twice as fast as he was supposed tae."

"If it helps, Dr. Zelenka theorized that the nanites were originally programmed to protect and repair their host…like normal white blood cells would," Dr. Montgomery explained. "But he assumes Brandelis sent them one last command…which reached only part of the dormant nanites before he died. The ones that didn't receive the command followed their original programming and destroyed the rogues. When that was over, they went to work repairing the damage to his body."

Somehow, Sheppard both understood and believed the good doctor. It explained McKay's ballistic episode and how he managed to survive so long with his injuries. _Funny_, he thought, though it was anything but funny. _The same damned nanites that were slowing killing him were also keeping him alive. Go figure._

But still…

"I thought the nanites were programmed to imitate a Wraith," he said groggily. He was fighting the edges of sleep now. Breathing kind of hurt.

"They received commands from Brandelis's virus," said the doctor. "The same way we remotely control robots to disarm bombs."

"Well," Sheppard said with a sarcastic drawl. "That's nice to know."

"Dr. Zelenka also said that the nanites are harmless. If anything, they'll be useful for the next time Dr. McKay is injured."

_If I can help it,_ thought Sheppard. _There won't be a next time._

Montgomery saw that the colonel was no longer paying attention and looked away. "Anyway, you need your rest, Colonel. Looks like you're not due for release until the next ice age."

"Aye, tha's what ye get for refusin' tae let me help ye," Beckett said reproachfully from his bed. "And ye should remember that, Colonel. I won't be so soft on ye next time."

Just as Montgomery started to depart, Sheppard lifted his exhausted head slightly. "Hey, doc…what about Lorne?"

The doctor paused. "We examined him. He's confused, but healthy. Now sleep. Wouldn't want you to precious recovery time, or piss off two chief surgeons in one week."

No, he didn't. Sheppard finally allowed himself to relax, until the monotonous sounds and tangy hospital smell faded away.

* * *

-

**3:26 am, Daedalus Infirmary**

When he woke, it was nighttime.

Well, it was a late hour, anyway. In the middle of space, there was no literal day or night. But the lights were dimmed, and the curtain was drawn between his bed and Carson's. By the sound of the gentle doc's snoring, he was probably the only one nearby who was actually awake.

Sheppard's eyes adjusted to the shape sitting at the end of his bed.

Scratch that. He was one of _two_ people who were awake.

_Snore_.

Scratch that. He was the only one.

McKay was slumped in the chair—probably had fallen asleep waiting for him to wake up. There were no bandages on his head, or any indication whatsoever that he had been shot and nearly bled to death three days ago. At least, he thought it was three days ago. He still expected a worse sight than a slightly drooling scientist hunched over the foot of his bed.

Furling his brow, the colonel looked at his side table, and found something he could use. With clumsy hand-eye coordination, he reached over and plucked the empty plastic cup from a nearby tray.

He then chucked it at Rodney's head.

It bounced off with a soft 'tuh', and landed on the physicist's lap. McKay jerked awake, blinking in a moment of complete bewilderment. Then he saw Sheppard glaring at him, and deflated a little.

"Oh…hey," he said.

Sheppard carefully and slowly pulled himself backwards so that he lay propped against his pillow. Someone must have given him painkillers, because he could barely feel the hole in his arm anymore. "Hey," he responded in a brusque tone. "Bad night?"

The scientist's confusion returned momentarily. "No, actually…I, uh…just stopped by for a couple of hours…thought you might be awake and—

"_Rodney_."

There was purpose in the way that McKay avoided making eye contact. That 'look' came over him; the one where he knew he was in trouble and had no viable defenses left to hide behind. "You…you're really mad at me, aren't you?"

"You _think_?" Sheppard almost growled, clenching his fists as they dug into the sheets beside him. "You _shot_ yourself, McKay! What the hell was going through your head that made that seem like a good idea?"

McKay's voice stayed perfectly even, though it became harder and more forced. "It just…did…at the time. Look, can we…not discuss this right now? I mean, it's late and now's a bad time, and I'm not really supposed to be here…"

"_Why_, Rodney?" the colonel demanded, refusing to drop the subject. There was never a _good_ time to discuss this, and McKay would shirk it forever unless he was cornered.

His teammate's face lost all expression, except for the smallest twinge of his mouth. Finally, he said, "I was faced with a tough decision, and…and I made it. I did _exactly_ what you would have done if you were in my position."

"And that's supposed to make it okay?" Sheppard was livid now. It was all he could do to remember to keep his voice down, or else risk waking his neighbours.

McKay displayed a similar amount of self-control, though he was probably angrier. "Come on, I did what I _had_ to do, Sheppard! I can honestly say that it doesn't get _any_ more complicated than that, all right? And _yes_—yes, I'd do it again, if I were somehow magically transported back to that exact time and place. And do you want to know why, Colonel?"

"Because you're an idiot!"

A distant look came over Rodney. "No," he said lowly. "Because…I would rather have died than live, knowing that _this hand_—" he lifted his right hand unsteadily "—was responsible for killing my best friend. Knowing…that I was powerless to stop it. That's why."

There was no mistaking the dead seriousness of his tone, or the rocky glaze of his eyes. Hell, thought Sheppard. He'd forgotten that McKay had been through hell and back since the first time the blue lights came on. And despite the fact that he was _still_ furious over what McKay had tried to do, he couldn't hold it against him. Not even if he wanted to.

The beeping of a heart monitor broke the uneasy silence. Looking somewhat tired, a little bit hurt and overall defeated, McKay stood out of the chair he'd been sitting in for five straight hours.

"This is pointless," he muttered, and started to turn away.

"Wait."

For once, the scientist overcame his stubbornness and froze in place.

"_What?_" he demanded snappily.

Sheppard stared at his teammate's back without blinking. "Thanks."

"For _what_?" Rodney whirled on him as the strings of his patience snapped tight.

But the colonel was looking at him with the barest hint of a smirk twisting his mouth. "You know," he said casually.

No, he didn't know. That was the infuriating thing between him and the Colonel—clarity. They each had their own rules, so if McKay had violated them somehow by nearly killing himself to save someone else's life…then they were stupid rules. Garbage. Absolutely useless.

Instead of replying, he turned away again to leave…only to be stopped by Sheppard's voice.

"Hey, Rodney?"

McKay looked back. "_Now_ what?"

"I forgot to say, y'know, before…happy birthday."

The scientist's frown deepened. "That was days ago, Colonel."

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't hurt to say it, does it?"

A moment of consideration later, and McKay made a dismissive 'huh' sound before stepping away from the bed. He tried not to imagine the colonel's smug expression as he ventured through the infirmary and out the door.

Somehow, the dread he felt for his next birthday didn't seem so bad.

* * *

-

**3:29 am, Chief Medical Office**

Leaving the military leader and his scientist companion to their consultation, Dr. Montgomery strolled into his office, but not before he glanced at the vitals of some of the critical patients. They were slow to recover, but then, guns were instruments fashioned to make a thorough killing. This was something he had learned first-hand just a few days ago.

Tossing the clipboard down on the desk, the grizzled doctor then sat down with a deep crease in his brow. For a moment, he gazed at his reflection in the dark computer screen.

Wrinkled, old, unattractive and weak. He saw these things and more. Dr. Montgomery was a man, however, with very few secrets and a perfect record of performing his job well.

Overall: not a bad outcome. He recalled clearly when he had aided the other physicians, pulling the young, healthy Major Lorne out of his pod and treating him. He remembered this as though it were his own memory.

The first rule of war: do nothing without an alternative plan.

Montgomery was his.

He looked down wretchedly at the weathered hands of his new body. And Brandelis began to plot the best way to go about his revenge.

* * *

-

END


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